


Stay With Me

by mariechomp



Series: Stay: A Sherlock Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 06:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariechomp/pseuds/mariechomp
Summary: Sherlock returns with every expectation of his life being just like it was, ready to rid himself of the heartache that was missing his Lottie. But now with John about to get married, and Lottie having been out of touch with most of the world around her, it's going to take a little more effort than he thought.





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson sat waiting, rather impatiently, in The Landmark of London, right in the middle of the city. He was sipping his wine, doing his best to keep his heart from racing on the rather big night, however his hands shook with nerves and no matter how much wine slipped past his mustached lips they wouldn't stop. It'd been two years since Sherlock took his life and it had taken John that long to finally try and put his life back together, well, at least as much as he could. He picked up the wine menu and examined his options. If he was honest he didn't actually know what he was looking at; champagne was never his specialty.

"Can I help you with anything, sir?" one of the waiters, a tall man with dark curly hair, glasses and a little black mustache, stopped to address him, his French accent came through strong. John thought it made his voice sound a bit pitchy and almost wheezy but he had more things on his mind at the moment than this man's vocal cord problems.

"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for a bottle of champagne." He told the man, glancing over the menu again, "A good one."

"Hmm, well, these are all excellent vintages, sir."

"Oh, it's not really my area, what do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong but, uh, maybe if you'd like my personal recommendation." He pointed to one of the choices lower down on the page, "This last one on the list is a favorite of mine. It is, you might in fact say, like a face from the past."

He slid his glasses off his face and John fidgeted in his seat. He was getting more nervous by the second and he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, "Great, I'll have that one, please."

"It is familiar but with the quality of surprise!"

John handed him the menu, clearing his throat, "Well, surprise me."

"I'm certainly endeavoring to, sir."

The waiter ran off with the menu and John pulled a small, red velvet box from his inside jacket pocket, prying it open with ginger fingers to examine the ring inside. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, really actually going to do this. He set the box down on the table, turning it every which way; it had to be perfect. With a deep breath he glanced at his watch wondering where she'd gone, just as someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry that took so long." She said, taking a seat across from him. Her earrings dangling about her neck, clearly seen with her blonde hair cropped short and styled in delicate, retro waves. She had a beautiful smile and sly, blue eyes as John hurriedly stuffed the ring box back into his pocket.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine." He replied a bit too quick, his nerves getting the best of him and they both laughed.

"Now, then, what did you want to ask me?"

He hesitated, "More wine?"

"No, I 'm good with water, thanks."

"Right." He paused and she looked around awkwardly.

"So?"

"Uh, so, Mary. Listen, um…I know it hasn't been long and I know we haven't known each other for a long time."

He stopped and Mary bit her lip, "Go on."

"Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me. And meeting you," he stopped, holding her gaze before the corners of his moth lifted up in a genuine smile, "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could've possibly happened."

"I agree."

"What?"

"I agree, I'm the best thing that could have happened to you."

John laughed and Mary shook her head, "Sorry."

"Well, no, it's, um, so…" John leaned on the table, "If you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…If you could see your way…"

He sighed and Mary sat giggling, watching him struggle through his endeavors, a stuttering mess. The waiter suddenly came back, a bottle of champagne in his hands, trying his hardest to sell the bottle to John and Mary's eyes went wide, the biggest smile plastered on her face. She bit at her nail, trying her hardest not to burst out in a fit of laughter.

"No, sorry, not now, please." John said, but the waiter continued, completely ignoring his pleas for him and Mary to be alone.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend."

The waiter pulled the glasses from his face and John looked up, having every intention of telling to basically fuck off but with one look at the man's face he was rendered speechless. He face fell and he looked at Mary to make sure he wasn't dreaming. His world went silent.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo." Said Sherlock, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters."

Mary was undoubtedly confused and John stumbled to his feet, eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy through his nose like he did when he was upset. Mary was starting to get worried.

"John?" she said, "John, what is it?"

John stared Sherlock in the eyes, tearing himself away to look at Mary, eyes dark and glazed over as Sherlock spoke.

"Well, the short version," Sherlock explained, "Not dead."

There was a short silence while John looked up at him through his eyelashes and Sherlock thinned his lips, "Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you ha heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny."

John was shooting daggers at him with piercing eyes, clearly lived and boiling with anger. Sherlock cleared his throat, "Okay, it's not a great defense."

"Oh, no." Mary breathed, staring up at him, "You're…"

"Oh, yes." Sherlock inclined his head to her.

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite."

"You died, you jumped off a roof."

"No."

"You're dead."

"No, I'm quite sure, I checked. Excuse me." He dipped a napkin into her water, wiping his mustache away, "Uh, does your rub off, too?"

John was unmoving, stiff with anger and Mary looked between the two men frantically, "Oh, my God! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Sherlock wouldn't lie, he was starting to get the idea, "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology."

John slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the glassware and forcing Sherlock to go silent. Mary was doing her best to calm him down but it seemed he was past the point of help.

"Two years." John said, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling sharply, doing his best to keep calm. Sherlock blinked, taking in John's words, "Two year! I thought. Mmm…I thought…You were dead." Now, you let me grieve. How could you do that? How?"

"Wait," Sherlock stopped him, "Before you do anything that you might regret, one question, just let me ask one question."

John looked at him, reluctantly letting him speak.

"Are you really going to keep that?" he chuckled, gesturing to John's mustache and suddenly John's hands were around his neck, throwing them both back onto the floor. Mary and the staff had to pull them apart kicking and screaming and a few hours later, after having been kicked out of two other places after the Landmark for public disruption, Sherlock stood on the sidewalk outside a small ice-cream parlor with Mary while John hailed a cab. He had a napkin held to his nostrils to try and stop the bleeding from where John had head-butted him a half hour ago in the parlor behind them, accompanied by a cut lip from the diner before that, both results of John's anger after having found out that Molly Hooper and some of Sherlock's Homeless Network knew that he was still alive. Sherlock leaned his head back and held the bridge of his nose.

"I don't understand. I said I'm sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" he mumbled. Mary looked at him with pity in her eyes.

"Gosh, you don't' know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Hmm, nature? No. Human? No."

She smiled, "I'll talk him round."

"You will?"

"Oh, yeah."

He eyed her carefully, taking in everything that he could deduce about her and storing it away. So many words came rolling off of her, some of it got jumbled but he simply stored it away for later. It wasn't important now. He continued to nurse his nose, "I'm glad I didn't go to Lottie first. She probably would've had an anxiety attack."

"Who?"

"Between the three of us, we should be able to stop the attack."

"Three?"

"Sure – me, John, Lottie."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows, "Lottie? You mean Lottie Blakely?"

"Yes, of course. Sure you know Lottie. She must be around John constantly."

The look in her eyes told Sherlock that something wasn't right, "Sherlock, John hasn't seen or heard from Lottie in over a year. No one has. I've never even met her."

Sherlock looked at her, completely taken off guard. The ache that he'd been trying so hard to ignore in his chest, the ache that he was excited to be rid of now seemed to grow even more. What did she mean no one had heard from her? She couldn't be dead, no, someone would've contacted him if she was. John called out to Mary and she scanned Sherlock's face before moving to step into the cab John had called for them. He watched the two of them go, letting his mind run rampant. If Lottie wasn't with John, then where was she?


	2. Chapter 2

Bekah Mills walked up the front steps to her best friend's house without so much as a knock and closed the door behind her. She slipped her shoes off and dropped her purse on the floor next to them, looking around the house and listening intently. She could hear Mrs. Blakely fiddling about in the kitchen, probably finishing up the dishes and the telly was on the living room, probably Mr. Blakely. It sounded like a normal day in this house and she smiled, treading into the kitchen to great Mrs. Blakely.

"Hi, Mrs. Blakely." She said. The red headed woman looked over her shoulder and smiled. She was your average sized, kind old lady, in her early sixties with a few streaks of grey in her naturally coopered colored hair, blue eyes soft and kind but they now had a dullness about them, growing more and more tired over the past two years, but she kept her hopes up.

"Hi, Bekah. How are you?"

"Well, thanks." She put in the kettle to boil, pulling out the milk and sugar for tea, just as she always did around this time. When she'd heard about the incident, and started getting more and more details about what supposedly happened, it didn't take her long to convince Austin that they should move back to England. The Blakely's insisted that she didn't have to do that but they did it anyway. The Blakely's had always been family to them, and they wanted to be there, to help and support in every way that they could. While Austin was at work, Bekah would come over and help around the house and spend some time with the family so when the tea was finished she prepared four cups, leaving one for Mrs. Blakely, taking one into the living room to greet Mr. Blakely and leave him his tea. He was a tall dark-haired, good natured man who meant well, but Bekah wasn't really all that afraid to admit she didn't necessarily agree with his decision.

"Is she painting?" Bekah asked, picking up the last two cups of tea.

"Yes, upstairs."

Bekah kissed her cheek and started up the steps back by the front door, moving cautiously with two full cups of hot tea and not wanted to sneak up on her friend. She reached the top of the stairs and poked her head around the corner into what was once the guest room, smiling when she found Lottie sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair done up on the top of her head and dressed in black leggings and a jumper that fell off of her shoulder, covered in paint from head to toe. She had a large canvas set on a table easel in front of her and a soft smile on her features. Bekah chuckled and Lottie looked up at her, her smile growing.

"Why are you on the floor?" Bekah entered the room and handed Lottie her tea, taking a seat next to her to observe her artwork.

"I like the sunlight. It makes the colors feel warmer." The redhead smiled. Bekah watched her with nervous pride. It had taken them all so long to get her to smile again. Yeah, she smiled, but this, this was real, genuine. Her eyes were bright and her movements sharp and her mind flowing with creativity. For so long she had sat there in the couch, watching the news over and over again, anything that covered the story of Sherlock's death was on the screen, and she would watch with a zombie-like gaze, her whole aura dull and lifeless. Her parents may have brought her back to Doncaster but she didn't stay long. She would frequently take trips back to London, staying with John on Baker Street until her parents couldn't take it anymore. After a year they cut her off, no connection with John Watson, Baker Street, any of it. That's when Bekah had come back, trying her hardest to reason with the Blakely's, trying to make them understand what they were doing. Lottie was already struggling to keep it together with John but without him they would lose her, but they didn't see it that way. They thought it would be for her own good, but their plan had backfired; Lottie had sunk so deep into despair that without John, she couldn't control. What the Blakely's didn't see or understand was that John and Lottie were keeping each other afloat, watching out for each other in this time that no one else seemed to be able to relate to and as soon as they were taken away from each other, it only got worse. John went back into therapy and Lottie had no outlet. John had always been there to coach her through her anxiety attacks and she was there for him to let out his feelings and vice versa. She had all these things that she was keeping locked away; emotions, images, nightmares, all of it had nowhere to go. That was when Bekah had this idea, remembering how much Lottie used to paint and she set out to turn the guest room into an art studio of sorts, filling it to the brim with paints, brushes, canvases, all of it, and once they finally got Lottie in there, it was like she never came out. All of these things just started pouring onto the canvas. For a while it was angry and terrifying: red, images of Sherlock's form lying on the concrete, of Moriarty's malicious grin staring back through the canvas, of Lottie herself drowning. It was all so terrifying that Bekah wondered if maybe this wouldn't be enough but after a few months, it all changed. Paintings of the inside of Buckingham Palace, of 221b Baker Street, of John and Sherlock smiling, of Molly, Lestrade, even Mycroft until it all faded away into simple landscapes and scenes from around the city. All of her older paintings buried among the new ones until one day they just disappeared. Bekah searched all over for them but they were nowhere to be found. No trace of John Watson, Molly Hooper, Baker Street, or Sherlock Holmes found anywhere and Bekah secretly wondered if Lottie had hid them away somewhere, or ever destroyed them. But she never said a word. The only thing left of those years back at Baker Street was the locket that Sherlock had given to her. She never took it off and no one was to touch it. Lottie was perfectly civil as long as her locket was left alone and Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or James Moriarty were not mentioned.

"Where did you see that?" Bekah inquired, leaning over to admire the piece that Lottie was currently working on.

"Down by the church." Lottie said, holding up the printed photo from her walk the day before, "I thought it was a beautiful building."

"Wow, it is. That's great work, babe."

"Thanks. How are you? Austin at work?"

They slipped into a small conversation, nothing of real importance but it was nice. It was always easy for the two of them to communicate and it was definitely one of the factors that helped Lottie get back to normalcy. After a few minutes Lottie's phone sounded and took the brush that she was holding in between her teeth in her hand, "Would you mind grabbing that for me?"

"Sure." Bekah got to her feet and traveled across the room to pick up Lottie's phone, sliding it open to read the message. It was from a Phillip Anderson, a name she vaguely recognized, but her heart and her mouth dropped, stumbling back at the information that had been sent.

' _#SherlockLives'_

"Bekah?" Lottie leaned around her canvas, "Everything all right?"

Bekah hesitated, "Yeah! Yeah, of course."

"Okay, then who's the message from?"

"Huh? Oh, um, nothing. Wrong number. Listen," Bekah was trying to think fast. Lottie could not know about this, they had just brought her back to life and this would absolutely break her down to nothing, "Um, you're phone is about to die so I'm going to go put it on a charge."

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "Really? I just charged it."

"Wow, strange. Looks like you need to get your battery replaced. Oh well, let me just go charge it for you."

She all but ran out of the room, taking the phone with her. This was not going to turn out well.

* * *

After a quick meeting with Mycroft about the case he'd been assigned, Sherlock got straight to work to make sense of the information he'd been given and what he'd already found out himself. Without John and Lottie, he needed something to distract himself anyway, however this case was only bringing him memories of the three of them together. By now, Lottie was the only one who didn't know he was back as far as he knew. He did his best to ignore these thoughts, pushing them into Lottie's room. His mind palace no longer had a red floor, the entire thing had been stained red with the blood of his aching heart working so hard to keep his feelings at bay. She was everywhere, and the harder he worked to keep her locked up, the darker the walls of his palace got, so he simply let her roam. He stood before all of the papers, documents, photos, and maps he'd pinned to the wall above the sofa, finding the common factor in his information, silent and stoic with his eyes scanning the wall.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said, peeking in from the kitchen.

"Hmm?" barely any effort was given into his reply.

"Talk to John."

"I've tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear."

"What did he say?"

Sherlock smirked, "Fuck off."

"Oh, dear. Well, what about Lottie? I haven't heard from her in,"

"Over a year." Sherlock interrupted, closing his eyes, "I know."

Sherlock was remembering a few days beforehand, just after the night he'd showed up at the Landmark to announce his return to John, he'd found where Lottie had been staying and made a point to go out and see her. He couldn't stand not knowing she was somewhere safe any longer, but upon his arrival he hid just outside the kitchen window. If John reacted the way he did, he was admittedly terrified of how Lottie would react, especially with her history.

_Sherlock kneeled down under the kitchen window of Lottie's parents' home, listening in on a conversation he believed to be between Lottie's mother and her best friend, Bekah. To his surprise, they were talking about him. His heart was racing._

" _What do you mean still alive?" Mrs. Blakely said, "He jumped off the roof of St. Bart's!"_

" _I know, okay, keep your voice down!" Bekah said, her tone hushed and quiet. Sherlock had to strain himself to hear what they were saying, "Look, we'll just have to keep it from her for a little while longer. Give her some more time before we tell her."_

" _She's not going to be happy about this."_

" _I know, but," Bekah sighed, "Listen, I spent a lot of time bring her back from whatever bad place she went to when Sherlock…jumped, and I know very well that she's still got a lot of things still locked up in that," she stuttered, searching for the right word, "Mind castle of hers or whatever. She's not ready, but when she is, we'll tell her. For now, we keep her in the dark."_

"She just…needs some time." Sherlock explained, obviously pained by the idea. Mrs. Hudson gave him a pitied looked that went completely unnoticed before stepping out of the room. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket to make a call and thirty minutes later Molly was cautiously entering the room, her eyes scanning the space while Sherlock stood at the window.

"You wanted to see me?" she said.

"Yes." Sherlock faced her, closing the space between them, "Molly?"

"Yes."

"Would you…" he hesitated, finding his words, "Would you like to solve crimes?"

He let his words flow just about the time Molly suggested dinner, turning the situation around to be a tad awkward, but she agreed to help him and they dove right in, taking clients for a majority of the morning and into the afternoon while Sherlock waited on information from his Homeless Network about Mycroft's case. In the early evening Lestrade pulled them away from the flat for a case out in the field on the other side of town. Lestrade took down the police tape and led them down into a basement where the police had set up some dim florescent lights and a few black lights. Sherlock was not afraid to admit his confusion upon entering the scene: a skeleton dressed in a suit, sat at a very old, dust covered desk. Sherlock made a face and pulled out some of his tools to examine what had been laid out for him while Lestrade waited in the corner; Molly stood back to take a few notes, looking up when Sherlock started to sniff the bones.

"What is it?" she said, "You're onto something, aren't you?"

"Maybe." He was having a hard time concentrating. His mind palace bleeding red with Lottie's presence, and now even John was making himself known, distracting him more than helping.

' _Show off!'_ John said.

' _Hush, John!'_ Lottie retorted.

"Shut up, John." Sherlock mumbled.

"What?" Molly exchanged looks with Lestrade.

"Nothing."

Sherlock took a pair of tweezers to lift the skeleton's coat lapel and Lestrade leaned down to whisper to him, gesturing towards Molly.

"This going to be your new arrangement, is it?"

"Just giving it a go." Sherlock replied.

"Right. So, John and Lottie?"

He walked around the desk, "Not really in the picture anymore."

He stood by Molly, taking a view of the bigger picture and a rumbling sound shook the ceiling above them. Sherlock glanced up, as did Molly.

"Trains?" she suggested.

"Trains." Sherlock agreed. He stepped back and squatted to have a look at another angle, folding his hands together, thinking while Molly had a look at the bones.

"Male, 40 to 50." She said. Sherlock stood and approached her and she stepped back, "Oh, sorry, did you want to…?"

"Uh, no, be my guest." He let her examine the bones, fiddling with his equipment, blinking. John and Lottie were running rampant around his mind palace and he could not shake them for the life of him.

' _You jealous?'_ John teased, though he sounded perfectly serious.

"Shut up." Sherlock said through gritted teeth, clearly aggravated. Molly and Lestrade eyed him but they said nothing, continuing to work alongside him.

"It doesn't make sense." Molly said.

"What doesn't?" said Lestrade. Sherlock was blowing the dust off the side of the desk while Molly spoke.

"This skeleton, it can't be more than,"

"Six months old." Sherlock finished for her, pulling open a secret compartment in the desk and retrieving a book from its confinements. He blew the dust off of it and rolled his eyes at the title, showing it to Molly.

"Wow!" she breathed. He smiled and threw the book onto the desk, dust spreading all throughout the room.

" _How I Did It_ by Jack the Ripper." Lestrade leaned over the table with a confused expression.

"Mm-hmm." Sherlock started to pack up.

"That's impossible." Molly wondered.

"Welcome to my world."

' _Smart arse.'_ John said, thought Sherlock was the only one to hear him. Lottie scolded him and Sherlock mumbled, waving the two of them off.

"I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

"No, please, insult away." Lestrade wore a big goofy grin on his face as Sherlock started to walk away.

' _Sherly, you forgot to put your collar up.'_ Lottie reminded him. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Even the voice in his head pained him. He turned back to the scene, shaking her out of his ears.

"The corpse is six months old. It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago."

Lestrade scratched the back of his head as Sherlock showed him the sale marketing on his phone. Lestrade shook his head, "So the whole thing was a fake?"

"Yes."

"Looked so promising."

"Facile."

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly asked, getting the question out that had been bugging her throughout Sherlock's explanation. But Sherlock was nearly halfway out the door and up the stairs, calling out over his shoulder back to them.

"Why indeed, Lottie?"

Molly looked down, hurt and confused and Lestrade simply gave her a pitying look before she hurried to follow Sherlock up the stairs and out into the streets of London.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fancy some chips?"

"What?"

Molly watched Sherlock come down the stairs with confused, brain dead eyes. They'd just been to see a man about the security footage on the Tube system, gaining new information on the case that Mycroft had assigned to Sherlock; Molly had been with him all day and if she was honest, she was completely exhausted. How on earth had John and Lottie done this all day every day? Sherlock passed by her and continued on down the hall.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road, the owner always gives me extra portions." He said.

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly followed after him down another set of steps.

"Nope, I helped him put up some shelves." He chuckled and the two of them smiled.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" they stopped at the foot of the stairs and Molly hesitated with her steps.

"What was today about?"

"Saying thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything you did for me."

"It's okay. It's my pleasure." She stepped past him and started for the door but he stopped her.

"No. I mean it."

She turned to him, pulling at her fingers like she always did when she was nervous, "I don't mean pleasure, I mean I didn't mind. I wanted to."

"Moriarty slipped up, he made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the person that mattered the most. You made it all possible."

Molly's lips thinned into a smile and she shook her head, "Thank you, but it's not me who matters the most. You and I both know that."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and she glanced away for a moment, collecting herself, "Charlotte Blakely was, and still is, the one that matters the most. She always has and always will be."

Sherlock was quiet a moment, "You can't do this again, can you?"

Molly swallowed, giving an almost convincing smile, "I had a lovely day. I'd love to, I just, um…"

"And congratulations, by the way." Sherlock nodded to the ring on her left ring finger. She smiled, biting her lip.

"He's not from work. We met through friends, old-fashioned way. He's nice, he's got a dog, we go to the pub on weekends and I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you any of this."

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

"No?"

"No."

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock took a step forward to kiss her cheek and walked out the door a few feet away from where they were standing. After a beat, Molly followed, pulling her gloves over her hands and pulling her coat closer to her frame to protect her from the cold snow that was falling all around them. Sherlock was already halfway down the sidewalk and for a moment, she watched him go, feeling as if she finally had a bit of closure. She sighed and turned on her heels to go the opposite direction, taking them on their separate ways in more ways than one.

* * *

Lottie listened to Bekah's footsteps fade away all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, waiting until she was sure that she wouldn't hear her following after her. She carefully set her paint brush down and got to her feet, keeping as quiet as possible till she was standing just outside the kitchen where Bekah and her mother were speaking very animatedly about something. Lottie kept just out of sight, listening intently to the conversation to be had and contorting her face into confusion.

"What do you mean still alive?" her mother was saying, "He jumped off the roof of St. Bart's!"

"I know, okay, keep your voice down!" Bekah scolded, her voice quiet and hushed. Lottie stood shock still, mouth agape. She was having a hard time hearing them, holding her breath so as better to hear their low voices, praying that they weren't saying what she thought they were saying. She leaned over as far as she dared, eavesdropping on their continued conversation.

"Look," Bekah continued, "We'll just have to keep it from her for a little while longer. Give her some more time before we tell her."

Lottie couldn't believe her ears. Her eyes darted every which way and her brain was running a million miles an hour. Her mother's voice brought her back to reality and she swallowed, no longer to hold her rigged breathing.

"She's not going to be happy about this."

"I know, but," Bekah sighed, "Listen, I spent a lot of time bring her back from whatever bad place she went to when Sherlock…jumped, and I know very well that she's still got a lot of things still locked up in that," she stuttered, searching for the right word, "Mind castle of hers or whatever. She's not ready, but when she is, we'll tell her. For now, we keep her in the dark."

Fast footsteps made the women's eyes go wide and they whipped their heads around towards the sound, realizing that Lottie had been listening in the entire time. Bekah cursed under her breath and started after the redhead with Mrs. Blakely in two just behind her, but it was too late. By the time they got up the stairs and into Lottie's studio, her window was open, allowing the cold wind to give the curtains a gentle wave, and Lottie was nowhere to be found.

* * *

John stood in front of 221b Baker Street, gazing up at the ominous door with trembling hands. It was early in the afternoon, he'd just finished lunch, and he looked around nervously. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, after everything Sherlock put him through, he was about to open up the door to his old life, his old ways, and let this man back into his life. He took a deep breath, prepared to reach for the door knob when a man walking down the street bumped his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back, and continued on without so much as a "pardon". John eyed him.

"Excuse you." He said. The man looked back at him with dark eyes but didn't stop or say a word. John rolled his eyes.

"John!"

His eyes widened at his name, called out in a familiar voice; one he hadn't heard in a long time. He turned and saw none other than Lottie running across the street towards him and he immediately felt joy in his heart after missing his favorite redhead for so long, but one look at her face and he knew something was amiss. He furrowed his eyebrows as she called out to him in a panicked tone just as someone took him from behind, jabbing a needle into the side of his neck. He tried to fight him off, the sound of Lottie's protests ringing in his ears, but before too long, whatever is was that was in that syringe was pumping through his veins and he could hear his heartbeat slow until he was lying on the concrete unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock paced his living room, gathering his thoughts with his fish n' chips in hand. He hadn't been home long, still in his coat with his scarf and gloves in place. He could hear Mrs. Hudson piddling downstairs just as there was a knock at the door and the landlady stopped what she was doing to answer it, a familiar voice traveling up the stairs when she did.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry, I think someone's got John."

She pushed passed Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock flicked his head towards the stairs where Mary was trotting up to him with worried features.

"Hang on, who are you?" Mrs. Hudson called. Mary stopped for only a second to answer her.

"Oh, I'm his fiancée."

"Mary?" Sherlock stepped out into the hall light as she came up the stairs, "What's wrong?"

"Someone sent me this." She stood next to him, pulling out her phone, "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, but it's not. It's a skip code."

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously, but looked at the message she held out for him to see.

' _Save souls Now!_

_John or Charlotte Watson?'_

"First word, then every third. 'Save John Watson'." Sherlock observed, blinking his eyes at the appearance of Lottie's name. He stored it away for later information as Mary scrolled to the second half of the message and held it out again:

' _Saint or Sinner?_

_James or John?_

_The more is Less?'_

"Now." Sherlock muttered, his eyes growing wide as he let his food fall from his hands and hit the floor, taking off down the stairs with Mary in tow.

"Where are we going?" Mary called as they made it outside into the pouring rain.

"St. James the Less, it's a church. Twenty minutes buy car. Did you drive here?"

"Yes."

"It's too slow, it's too slow." He paced up and down a few feet of the road, his mind reeling, going over maps and traffic stats in his head.

"Sherlock!" Mary called out to him and he ran over to her form bent over in the small garden next to the front door. John's phone was in her hands and she looked up at him. He took it from her and read through the missed notifications of the past few hours, finding fourteen missed calls from a Bekah Mills. There was also a voicemail, and Sherlock held the device to his ear to listen.

' _John! It's Bekah. Please pick up. Lottie's gone, I can't find her anywhere. I've got her phone. Please, please, John, help me find her. I'm getting really worried.'_

Bright lights blinded them, recklessly pulling up to the curb of Sherlock's flat and the two of them shielded their eyes from the light. A petite figure scrambled out of the car and ran right up to Sherlock, frantic and scared. He took one look at the girl and he knew exactly who she was; her eyes were staring up at his, brimming with determination. He swallowed, doing well to hide his fear as her name escaped his lips.

"Bekah."

"Please, you've to help me find her." Her voice was an alarming rate of calm, telling him that she was beyond scared. Something wasn't right, something was in fact very, very wrong. He sucked in a breath and started to pace the road, narrowly escaping getting hit by an oncoming car. He stopped just in front of her and she flinched.

"Have you received any messages?"

"No." She shook her head in confusion.

"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?" Mary exclaimed. He whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes.

"This." He held out his hand to stop two motorcycles heading right for them. Bekah cringed, waiting to be run over but she was surprised to find the two of them stopped a few inches from her toes. She looked up at Sherlock and he lowered his hand to speak with the drivers, persuading them to let him borrow their motorcycles and he handed out helmets to the two girls, "Mary, you take one and head straight for St James the Less church. Bekah, you come with me."

Mary was quick to take orders, hoping right on the bike and speeding away while Bekah looked around frantically, scared and confused, but Sherlock urged her with a demanding tone and she clambered onto the bike behind him. He was hurriedly searching through his phone for something and she looked over his shoulder to see him typing something into a GPS system. Did he even know where they were going? They were wasting time and he was fiddling with a GPS?

"What're you doing?" Bekah questioned just as he finished. He looked up gripped the handlebars and took off without warning, forcing her to grab around his middle so as not to fall off, taking a sharp turn a few blocks away from his flat.

"What is the GPS for?" Bekah yelled over the wind. Sherlock glanced back at her for only a moment.

"I put a tracker in the necklace that I gave to Lottie for Christmas almost three years ago. This will lead us to exactly where she is."

Bekah's phone buzzed and she pulled it from her coat pocket, reading over the new message, one from a number she didn't recognize.

' _It's very cold her, Mr. Holmes_

_You don't have much longer'_

She leaned over and held out the screen for Sherlock to see and he glanced over it, picking up speed at the words on the screen.

' _It's getting colder…'_

Sherlock glanced at Bekah's screen just before they were forced to stop at the traffic jam up ahead. He cursed, quickly darting through the cars and continuing to follow the GPS. He was getting anxious as he whipped the bike around the corner and down a few flights of stairs, into an underground tunnel as a shortcut. He pushed up the stairs on the other side and another message came through:

' _Better hurry_

_You're freezing, Mr. Holmes'_

And another after that:

' _You're in an icebox.'_

These messages weren't making any sense. Sherlock looked down at his phone, finding that they were just around the corner from their destination. He made a sharp turn and the Westminster Cathedral suddenly came into view; he stopped the bike and the two of them jumped off and started for the church, but there was no need to. Bekah stopped him, bringing his attention to none other than John Watson now sitting up on a bench a few yards away. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his GPS screen, which, according to the screen, Lottie should be standing right in front of him.

"John, are you okay?" Lottie said as John tried to shake himself of the fog in his head. He seemed to be coming out of a drugged sleep and having a hard time with it.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." John insisted, "Where's Lottie?"

Sherlock looked up at him, "What're you talking about?"

"Those men," he coughed, "They drugged me, and Lottie was there."

Something suddenly clicked in Sherlock's mind and his whole stature fell. The texts to Bekah's phone, John seeing Lottie just before he passed out, Lottie's name in the skip code texts, it all made so much sense, "John, check your pockets."

"What?" John was still blinking away the confusion.

"Just do it, John." Sherlock was running out of time and patience. If Lottie wasn't here, then she was definitely in danger and he needed to find her, and quick. John fumbled with all of his pockets, not coming up with anything for a few agonizing seconds but after a bit of searching he furrowed his eyebrows, pulling Lottie's locket from inside his coat. Sherlock swore under his breath, immediately going straight to his mind palace, searching the quickest way back to St James the Less church.

"What do we do now?" Bekah helped John to his feet and Sherlock's eyes popped open, rabid with some sort of plan and he ran to hail a cab from the main road. When one pulled up he ushered a still hazy John into the back seat, directing the driver to the church, and once it drove off he picked up the bike he and Bekah had ridden there and started it back up again. Bekah had learned quick not to question and slid her helmet over her head to jump onto the back of the bike, taking off back the way they came and after a few minutes of riding Bekah received another message from the same number:

' _Getting warmer Mr. Holmes_

_You have about ten minutes'_

"What does it mean? What are they going to do to her?" Bekah called.

"I don't know."

' _8 minutes and counting…'_

' _Better hurry_

_Things are heating up here…'_

Message after message was continually being sent, driving Sherlock's determination to go faster with every vibration of Bekah's phone, and when his own phone buzzed he really started to panic. It was a message from John's phone, still in Mary's possession.

' _GET HERE NOW'_

Another message on Bekah's phone:

' _Stay of execution_

_You've got two more minutes'_

They took another shortcut through a back alleyway and when they came out the other side, just outside of the church, they were greeted by a large group of people surrounding an extremely large, unlit bonfire. Mary was waving her arms at them, begging them to hurry and Bekah's phone sounded once more; Sherlock tore his eyes away from the scene to look at her screen.

' _What a shame Mr. Holmes_

_Lottie is such a lovely girl'_

"What does it mean?" Bekah called. Sherlock contorted his face in confusion and looked back to the bonfire just as it was being lit and his eyes went wide in terrorized realization.

"Oh, my God!" he pulled the cycle to a stop and the two of them jumped off as the wood went up in flames, a little girl's scream sounded a few yards away near the fire and Sherlock took off into the crowd with Bekah just behind him, shoving people out of the way and calling out to Lottie till his throat was sore. Once they were close enough to try and pull her out they could hear Lottie calling out for help and Sherlock dove right into the flames, throwing pieces of wood out of his way. Lottie was coughing and reaching out to the voices calling her name until Sherlock was finally able to grab hold of her and pull her out, dragging her far from the fire and kneeling down to hold her in his arms. Bekah was there next to them, pushing Lottie's hair out of her face to reveal a large gash just above her temple where blood was trickling down the side of her face.

"Lottie? Lottie!" Sherlock was holding her face, but she wasn't responding, at least not at first. She was groaning in pain and she was trying to open her eyes, but the dizziness was so overwhelming. The people around them had stopped their festivities and were watching with amazed eyes at the scene unfolding before them. Lottie forced her eyes to focus and they fell on Sherlock with a glazed look, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever drugs she'd been given. She breathed his name, wheezing horribly, trying her hardest to stay awake and conscious but it was so hard.

"You're alive." She coughed out.

Sherlock shushed her, "Come on, let's get you someplace safe."

She felt him lift her into his arms and they started to walk away towards the cab where John was still struggling to keep consciousness in the back seat and Mary was there with him, ready to help; however it didn't take Lottie long to black out, sick and injured, but cradled in Sherlock's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

_Lottie opened her eyes, barely strong enough to hold them open, allowing the little bits of moonlight to shine through the cracks of her prison. She was dizzy, and her lungs felt like they were full of dust as she gasped for air, feeling numb and terrified. She couldn't even sit up, no matter how hard she tried her body was paralyzed, feeling like the weight of an elephant was sat on her chest, keeping her from moving. There was a ringing in her ears as she stared to panic, panting without seeming to be able to fill up her lungs with enough oxygen, searching for a way out, a way to the surface. She felt like she was drowning and for a moment she could've sworn she heard his voice._

" _ **Deep breaths, Charlotte. If you don't your brain won't get enough oxygen and you'll pass out."**_

_There was an indistinct chatter outside, but it sounded so far away. She tried to scream but her vocal cords weren't functioning. She was trying so hard to move, to breathe, but she couldn't; the ringing in her ears going in and out as anxiety and claustrophobia both set in. She gasped for air just as a man's voice outside caught her attention. She strained to call out for help as drops of liquid splattered onto her face through the cracks; she protested as the sound of cheers also brought heat, searing heat and she was finally able to force a sound from her dry throat._

" _Help!"_

_There was a scream from outside, a little girl's and she rolled away from the heat; feeling scared and alone. But the faint sound of her name spiked her hope as she panted for air at the familiarity of the voice._

" _Charlotte!"_

_No, there's no way. He was dead._

" _Lottie!" His panicked calls slipped though the crackling fire and she coughed._

" _Help!" she reached out towards the moonlight as it got brighter and someone grabbed her, pulling her away from the heat and rolling her onto her back once they were safely away. She panted, breathing in the crisp, cool air of the night, filling up her overheated lungs. It hurt like hell, but she was alive._

" _Lottie? Lottie!"_

_Someone was holding her face and her head lulled into their touch, feeling so out of it. IT was hard to pen her eyes, but when she did Sherlock was inches from her, with Bekah just next to him._

" _You're alive." She muttered, barely able to speak._

" _Lottie, wake up." Bekah was saying, "Lottie, you have to wake up!"_

Lottie's eyes popped open and she bolted upright in bed, pain shooting through her entire body. She looked around and found herself back in her bedroom at her parent's and Bekah was sat on the bed next to her with pitied eyes. She looked at the clock, discovering how early in the day it was and furrowing her eyebrows. She slept through the night. She still felt a little hazy but she remembered; she remembered sneaking out of the house, trying to save John from that man on Baker Street, getting attacked and Sherlock saving her from that bonfire.

"Sherlock." She muttered in realization. She looked up at Bekah, "Where is he?"

"What're you talking about?" Bekah said.

"Sherlock, he pulled me from that fire. I know he did. Where is he?"

Bekah glanced away and stood up, standing by the window and peeking out onto the street, "You must've been dreaming, Sherlock, he jumped off that roof. Committed suicide."

Lottie eyed her, throwing her covers to the side and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, "Yes, but now he's back, and you know he is. You've known since yesterday morning when you came to my house."

Bekah didn't say anything and Lottie looked around for her phone, spotting in on the in table on the other side of her bed. She reached over to grab it and scanned through the messages. She had a few unimportant unread ones, but there was one from Anderson yesterday morning that had already been read.

' _#SherlockLives'_

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said.

"Because I knew you would do exactly what you did." Bekah sighed and turned to face her best friend, "Lottie, you don't know what we had to do to keep you here, with us."

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "But Bekah, I was here the whole time."

"No, Lottie, you don't understand. We were so scared, you were so distant, so locked away inside your own mind. That was not you that came back that day."

Bekah took a seat next to Lottie as the redhead processed what she was being told. She folded her hands in her lap and Bekah waited patiently for her to speak, just as she always did.

"I don't understand." She finally breathed.

"Come on. I want to show you something."

Bekah stood and started for the door and Lottie followed close behind, being led back into her art studio where Bekah stepped around the piles and piles of art supplies, paints, brushes, canvases, all of it to reach a large cabinet with a padlock around its handles that Lottie didn't think she'd ever really noticed before. Bekah reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to unlock it, urging Lottie over. She complied just as Bekah pulled open the large door to find hundreds of sketches and paintings of all kinds. She pulled one of the paintings out and let her eyes scan over its delicate strokes, not remembering ever having painted it, the picture of Sherlock sat at the kitchen table back at Baker Street, leaned over a telescope from the point of view from his chair, where Lottie sat most often. Lottie shook her head in confusion.

"This was one of your more mild ones." Bekah said.

"What are these?" Lottie looked around the canvas in her hands to scour the cabinet.

"This was the only thing that seemed to work. After we took you from Baker Street, and John started in on therapy again, we tried to find something like that for you, but we knew you'd never go to therapy. The only person you would talk to was John, but that wasn't helping either of you, it only made it worse, so we set this up for you, here, so you could express yourself the best way you know how."

Lottie pulled out some more of the paintings. Bekah was right, the more mild ones were at the front, probably a precaution in case she ever opened it she wouldn't see some of the more gruesome ones in the back. She noticed a pattern: most were memories, cases she'd worked on with the boys, but the further to the back she got, she found more and more of the day Sherlock had jumped. His body lying unmoving on the concrete, his face bloodied and eyes frozen in shock after death; Sherlock stood atop the roof from her point of view on the street; John sat across from her in the living room on Baker Street. They were all things that she saw, vivid images of what she remembered. There were even sketch books full of his face, both dead and alive, and even some of John. Happy, sad, all of it. This was her feelings poured out from her fingertips. There were a few of Lestrade, of Molly, but the more she looked through them, the more the memories came back, memories she'd pushed out of her own mind-castle, things she'd kept locked away for almost two years. She looked up at Bekah who'd been watching her with a sympathetic smile.

"You did all this?" Lottie said.

Bekah nodded, looking around the room, "Yeah, it was the only thing I could think of that might work, which actually was the only thing that would work."

Lottie was feeling so overwhelmed, unsure what to think or say. She swallowed and let her legs fold under her, looking over all of the images laid before her. Bekah took a silent deep breath, knowing how hard this was for Lottie; she laid a hand on her shoulder, letting her know she was here but she got no response.

"I'll give you some time."

She left Lottie alone with her thoughts, taking one last look through the crack in the door before pulling it closed, leaving Lottie to try and pick up the pieces of her broken self. Bekah had done all that she could, picked up the pieces that she could. Now it was up to Lottie to try and put them back where they belonged.

* * *

John trotted up the stairs to his old living room with every intention of speaking with Sherlock. Last time he was slightly interrupted, but this time, no, he was going to give him a piece of his mind. He turned the knob to open the door to his old living room and was greeted by Sherlock standing on the couch in front of a wall full of pictures, documents, and other papers pinned to it with an elderly couple, each sat on either side of him.

"John." Sherlock seemed surprised he was there and returned to the floor, adjusting his wardrobe.

"Sorry, you're busy." John said.

"No, no, no, they were just leaving." Sherlock helped the woman to her feet, ushering her towards the door, forcing John to step out of the way.

"Were we?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case," John insisted, but so did Sherlock.

"No, not a case. No, no, no." he all but pushed the couple out the door, quite hurriedly, pulling John into the room.

"We're here till Saturday, remember." The lady reminded Sherlock, who returned with in irritated expression.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

"Give us a ring."

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out." He tried to shut the door on them but the lady put her foot in the door stubbornly. Sherlock looked down confused.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock." She said, "All that time, people thinking the worst of you. We're just so pleased it's all over."

Sherlock glanced back at John, who obviously wasn't paying a bit of attention, and he continued to try and shut the door but the woman was having none of it, even with Sherlock's look of exasperation. He thinned his lips in frustration.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" the man put in. Sherlock gave a meager hum in reply, tapping his fingers impatiently on the doorknob and the man leaned in over his wife, "She worries."

"Promise." The lady demanded. Sherlock glanced back at John once more before answering with a confirmed promise, but he drew the line when she tried to caress his face, shoving the door closed and turned to face John nervously.

"Sorry about that." He apologized.

"No, it's fine." John replied, "Clients?"

"Just my parents."

"Your parents?"

Sherlock crossed the room, "In town for a few days."

"Those were your parents?"

"Yes."

"Well." John peeked out the window and chuckled, "That's not what I…"

"What?" Sherlock eyed him.

"I mean, they're just so…ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear."

John scoffed, making his way across the room towards his old chair before turned to Sherlock, "Did they know, too?"

Sherlock suddenly found the layer of dust that covered his desk extremely interesting, doing everything to avoid John's gaze, "Hmm?"

"That you've spent the last two years playing hide and seek?"

Sherlock hesitated, "Maybe."

"Ah!" John threw his hands in the air victoriously, "So that's why they weren't at the funeral!"

"Sorry, sorry again!" Sherlock was getting really sick of having to apologize to John over and over again but as soon as his tone left his throat John grew silent, and Sherlock knew deep down that he felt guilt, guilt for leaving, and for leaving the way he did, keeping John and Lottie in the dark. He sighed, "Sorry."

The sincerity of his word rang out in the silence that followed and they both took a deep breath, trying their hardest to move past this. Sherlock gestured towards where John's mustache used to be, "So you've shaved it off, then?"

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me."

"I'm glad."

"You didn't like it?"

"No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

"That's not a sentence you hear every day." John took a seat in his old chair, throwing his gloves on the side table.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock seemed to be picking his words carefully.

"Yeah, not bad."

Sherlock was honestly expecting a little bit more but when John said nothing, he debated on his next question, one that'd been torturing him since the bonfire, but it escaped his lips almost against his own will, "And Lottie?"

John scanned his features before answering his question, "She's fine. A bit, uh, smoked, but recovering fine."

Sherlock let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, "Right. Good, great."

John watched Sherlock's composure relax for only a second, letting his mind run rampant with all of the questions he had for this man, choosing to stick with the simpler route for now. He would get into the more complicated questions later, "Last night, who did that? And why did they target me and Lottie?"

Sherlock swallowed, "I don't know."

"Is it someone trying to get to you through us? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know, I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Give his life?"

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London, that's all we know." Sherlock approached the wall above the sofa, holding his arms out in display, "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" John turned to face him in his seat.

"My markers, agents, low-lifes. People who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally but the sixth," he pointed out the only photo left that wasn't crossed out with a permanent marker. John furrowed his eyebrows.

"I know him, don't I?" he said.

"Lord Moran, Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the Establishment. He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?"

"He's the big rat, rat number one. He's just done something very suspicious indeed."


	6. Chapter 6

"Yeah, that's odd. There's nowhere he could've got off?"

Sherlock had John take a look at the Tube security footage he had collected with Molly a few days beforehand, standing over him as he watched, hoping he'd see something that the rest of them were missing but so far, no such luck. John was just as stumped as the rest of them.

"Not according to the maps. There's something I'm missing. Something starting me in the face." Sherlock said, pacing the room.

'Come on, Sherly, it's not as clever as you think it is.'

Lottie made an appearance once again and this time he made no attempt to shoo her away. Her voice, no matter if it was in his head or not, was comforting to him. He turned back to his wall, examining all of the evidence once again when his phone sounded and he pulled it from his pocket, sorting the new photos received from his homeless network into his mind palace.

"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John asked, "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones."

John went on to list some of the major terrorists that they knew of but Sherlock ignored him, scrolling through the photos on his phone till he came across a photo of Lord Moran and he smirked, "Our rat's just come out of his den."

He closed his eyes, ignoring John's questions, and retreated to some of the more shallow parts of his mind palace. Lottie was there, stepping onto the penultimate carriage of the Tube, smiling to the security camera through which Sherlock was watching the scene unfold. He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing over to the next screen where Lottie then stepped off the last carriage, leaning on the doorframe.

' _Come on, Sherly, you're so close!'_ she said. Sherlock had a closer look as she pointed up at a sign above her head that read St James' Park and he came out of his palace, glancing down at his phone again when one of his homeless network had sent him a photo of the same sign.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"What are you on about?" John said.

"Mycroft's intelligence is not nebulous at all, it's specific, incredibly specific."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not an underground network, John, it's an Underground network!"

"Right…what?" John's eyes followed Sherlock as he jumped and strode around the room, nowhere near understanding what Sherlock was talking about.

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face." Sherlock rewound the Tube footage back to when the train took off, "Look, seven carriages leave Westminster. And only six carriages arrive at St. James' Park."

"But that's impossible." John's eyes were glued to the computer screen.

"Moran didn't disappear. The entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

"It vanishes between St. James' Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Lottie is kidnapped and nearly bunt to death at a fireworks party."

' _Remember, remember.'_ Lottie's voice echoed in his head and he turned to John.

"What's the date, John, today's date?"

"Um, November…" he paused in realization, an unbelieving smile creeping on his face, "My God."

"Lord Moran, he's a Peer of the Realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill. But he won't be there, not tonight. Not the 5th of November."

"'Remember, remember.'" John quoted.

"'Gunpowder, treason and plot.'"

* * *

' _With many commentators saying the vote on the Terrorism Bill will be too close to call, MPs are now making their way into the chamber for what the Government is calling the most important vote of this parliament. Over now to our-"_

Bekah switched off the living room TV where Lottie was sat with her knees to her chest, dressed in leggings and an oversized jumper – one of John's he'd lended to her so long ago, after the fall. She'd found it locked away with all of her paintings and threw it on after taking a shower. Bekah stood next to her, both of them staring at the blank TV, completely silent. Bekah bit her lip nervously; Lottie hadn't said much after she'd left her alone in her studio and now she was actually out watching the news, something she hadn't done since they were covering Sherlock's suicide. She didn't seem angry or upset, but that's what scared her, she looked blank, empty. Bekah took a deep breath and Lottie finally sliced through the silence with her words.

"That's what he's doing, isn't he?" she said. Bekah glanced at the silent TV, nodding her head.

"And John? Is he alright?" Lottie asked.

"Yes, he's fine. Home safe and sound."

Lottie merely nodded her head in understanding before getting to her feet and grabbing her coat, starting for the door. Bekah stepped out of the way, extremely confused, and followed after her.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"Out." Lottie replied, just before the door clicked shut behind her and Bekah was left with no earthly idea of what to do.


	7. Chapter 7

" _Sherlock, please, I beg of you. You can take over at the interval."_

"Oh, I'm sorry brother, dear, but you made a promise. Nothing I can do to help."

" _But you don't understand the pain of it, the horror."_

Sherlock hung up his phone with an amused smile plastered on his face, buttoning up his jacket just as John came in to fetch him. It had taken them nearly all night to find and stop the attack on the government, but they'd done it, just like the old days. John stopped at the doorway, his face bright and happy as he spoke.

"Come on, you'll have to go down, they want the story."

"In a minute." Sherlock passed by him into the living room where most of the people he held closest to him were scattered about the room. Well, all but one. Mary and Mrs. Hudson were sat discussing John and Mary's upcoming wedding while Lestrade sat listening, a glass of champagne in his hand. Looking around, Sherlock wished that she was here with them, celebrating all they had to celebrate: his return, the wedding, solving the case. He suddenly felt like he needed a drink and strode into the kitchen to grab the bottle and a glass, listening to the conversation between the ladies.

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Well we thought May."

"Ah, a spring wedding."

"Well once we've actually got engaged. We were interrupted last time." Mary eyed Sherlock as he took a seat next to her, fidgeting with his glass. He gave her a smug smile and took a large swig of the champagne just before Lestrade gave a small toast.

"Well, I can't wait." He held up his glass and took a sip.

"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary said.

"Weddings, not really my thing." He stood to grab his coat and scarf. He needed to get his mind off things and since the drink wasn't helping it seemed his only escape would be to go tell his story to the reporters outside. He slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat and hoisted the jacket over his shoulders as the door opened to allow more people into the room, namely Molly and her fiancée, Tom. Molly introduced him to everyone and they all welcomed him with warm hellos. John even shook his hand.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked John, walking to join him without paying much attention to the newcomers; at least, not until he came face to face with Tom and his eyes went wide. The man looked almost exactly like him: tall, lanky, brown curly hair and sharp cheekbones. He even went so far as to have the same long coat that Sherlock always wore, scarf and all. Sherlock shook his hand and he and John slipped out the door without a word.

"Did you, uh…" John said, his voice hushed as they spoke of the eerie similarities between Sherlock and Tom.

"I'm not saying a word." Sherlock replied, adjusting his scarf.

"No, best not." John cleared his throat, "But I'm still waiting."

Sherlock gave him a look, obviously confused.

"Why did they try and kill Lottie? Try to take me? If they knew you were onto them, why come after us? Put Lottie in the bonfire?"

Sherlock hesitated, "I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."

He started down the stairs and John followed as Sherlock explained what he did know, "Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all this but I will find out, I promise you."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and John stopped with a smirk, "Don't pretend you're not enjoying this. Being back. Being a hero again."

"Oh, don't be stupid."

"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it."

"Love what?"

"Being Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean." He started for the door, but John's next question stopped him.

"Yes, you do." He hesitated, careful with the words rolling off of his tongue, "But there's one thing missing, isn't there?"

Sherlock was silent.

"I can see it in your eyes, she's there, in your mind-palace. You miss her."

Silence.

John sucked in a breath, "Sherlock, are you gonna tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?"

"You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible."

"No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave. Lottie and I both."

"I should hope so."

"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you."

"I know." He looked back at him, "I was there."

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

"I heard you. I heard both of you." Sherlock blinked back his emotions, Lottie's words running through his mind, _'You said you would stay with me, always. Please don't do this.'_ He sighed, sucking in a deep breath, "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."

He started for the door again but just before he stepped outside into the sea of reporters, he reached around and pulled his old deerstalker hat from the shelf next to the door and pulled it over onto his head; standing tall, he opened the door and stepped out on to the front step, John just behind him, closing the door once they were out. There were cameras and people surrounding them, and as much as he'd hoped this would help, it didn't. Every word he spoke was simply his brain on autopilot, until a flash of red caught his attention. He took a double take and without realizing it, he'd stopped speaking, his eyes fixed on none other than Lottie standing on the other side of the street with her long red hair, just as he remembered it, blowing around her face. She was watching them and a small smile graced her lips. Sherlock looked over at John to make sure she was real, eyebrows furrowed in his usual way when he was perplexed, and when he too was staring after their favorite redhead, and he knew that it was really her. He pushed his way through the crowd without so much as an apology, crossing the street to get to her. She waited patiently for him to reach her and when he did, they both simply looked at each other in silence. Sherlock deduced her state of being, noticing a small bandage just above her temple from the bonfire incident and he recognized her jumper to be one of John's. He searched her eyes and scanned her frame and to his utter demise, he found nothing. She was so blank, so empty, and no light in her eyes. And he knew that this is what Bekah was talking about and he sighed.

"Lottie, I," he started, but she stopped him, stepping closer to him. He looked just as broken as her at the sight of her and she took a deep breath, holding it there for a few moments before she spoke.

"I love you, too."

There was a spark, there, in her eyes that matched the one in his stomach and Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He closed the space between them and kissed her lips for the second time, but only the first since his confession. She kissed him back, whole-heartedly, with tears of happiness streaming down her face. They both knew that the reporters on the other side of the street were having a field day but they didn't care. They were back together, and that was all that mattered.


	8. Chapter 8

1 year later…

Lottie was sound asleep in the late morning, recovering from the day before helping Mary make some last minute decisions for the wedding. She didn't have much planned that day and so she had no regrets about sleeping late. However, she should've known that wasn't going to happen when she lived with Sherlock Holmes. She had just rolled over into a more comfortable position and sunk back into her pillow when she was woken up by the wailing of sirens and screeching tires outside the flat. If she had been staying anywhere else she would've ignored it but not on Baker Street. Her eyes shot open in a panic before she let them flutter closed again with a sigh. She pushed herself up from the bed and shuffled into the living room in nothing but one of Sherlock's shirts, flipping her curly red hair to one side of her head. There she found Lestrade standing in the middle of the room, clearly pissed beyond belief, and Sherlock sat at his desk with a sheepish look about him and wearing his dressing gown. Lestrade was looking at her as if she should be punishing him but considering he'd woken her up on their day off, she raised her eyebrows and left him alone to deal with the detective, starting for the kitchen for her morning tea.

"Morning tea, Greg?" she called. Mrs. Hudson had already brought a pot up but Lottie had slept so late that it was cold and Sherlock had already drank most of it. Lestrade declined her offer and called off the police force outside the flat, muttering to himself about killing Sherlock and something else about someone named Jones on some case. Lottie bid Sherlock good morning and kissed his head, taking a seat in John's old chair with a cup of tea in hand. She observed the man sat across from her as he slipped his fingers into his curly locks and shook them around. She smirked and he looked up at her as she sipped her tea.

"What are you laughing at?" he said.

"I can't believe you waited this long to do this." She said simply, smiling, flipping a page in the paper that was laid out in front of her. Mrs. Hudson must have brought it up with the tea this morning, she thought.

"This long?" Sherlock questioned her with his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop, "I've got plenty of time."

Lottie cocked an eyebrow at him, "You know the wedding is in three days, right?"

She was met with silence and it took everything in her not to burst into a fit of laughter; so she bit her lip and took another sip of tea as she got to her feet, heading back towards the bedroom as Sherlock watched her with questioning eyes.

"What're you doing?" he said.

"Getting ready to go out."

"Go out? Out where? What're you doing?"

"Sherly, relax, I'm just going to have lunch with Mary and Bekah." She came out pulling her flowy, forest green shirt over her head and pulling her hair out of the back of the shirt.

"Why?"

"Because I was invited?"

"But what if…there's a case?"

Lottie's shoulders slumped and she had to fight the urge to give him a pitying look. Ever since the bonfire incident and his faking his death he didn't like to be too far from her for very long. It had been almost a full year and it still make him nervous to not have her near him, though he would never admit it, at least not out loud. But Lottie knew, she could see it in his eyes when it was just the two of them. To him she was comfort, she was stability, she was his number one priority, but she was also his number one downfall. The one thing that he was supposed to steer clear from, the chemical defect that is sentiment was now his Alkali's heel, already proven when she was kidnapped and thrown into that bonfire a year ago. Now the two of them were the number one item for gossip for every newspaper and reporter in the world it seemed, something both Sherlock and Mycroft disapproved of but when the one and only consulting detective in the world can't barely go anywhere without the infamous redhead, who wouldn't talk? If they went anywhere, as soon as they were down the steps outside the flat his hand always found hers and it didn't let go until they returned home. His heart ached for her when she was gone, something he was still getting used to, and Lottie could see the battles he was fighting, the tug of war between his logical brain and the sentiment he'd ultimately given into. She loved him, and for her that was enough, but it was a little more complicated to him.

"Sherlock, you haven't taken a case in weeks." She said, peeking through the blinds to see if the police were still there, finding the road clear of law enforcement, "Besides, you were solving cases long before I showed up. And you need to finish your speech."

"But I need you for moral support."

"Mrs. Hudson's downstairs. And you can text me if you really need me."

"But-"

She cut him off with a kiss and pulled away with a smile, "Three days, Sherlock. I won't be gone long, I promise."

* * *

3 DAYS LATER

Mrs. Hudson took the stairs as quickly as possible without spilling the tray of tea, a large grin plastered on her face at the sound of Sherlock's playing the violin and Lottie's laughter coming from behind their door. After John, Mrs. Hudson was probably the most excited about Sherlock and Lottie's relationship, and since Sherlock wasn't one for extreme public displays of affection, she knew that if she planned it right she would be able to catch a peek into the real relationship, the one that the newspapers didn't flaunt to the world. She bit her lip and opened the door, greeted by Sherlock and Lottie dancing the waltz in their living room to the music that was coming from Sherlock's iPhone, both of them half ready for the big day. Sherlock was smiling down at Lottie, completely relaxed and comfortable with her laugh filling the room, though as soon as Mrs. Hudson joined them the smile slipped right off of his face.

"Shut up, Mrs. Hudson." He said.

"I haven't said a word." She replied.

Lottie scolded Sherlock with a playful grin and he sighed, halting their dance and reaching for the remote to stop the music, "You're formulating a question and it's physically painful watching you think."

Lottie rolled her eyes and took the tray from their landlady with a thank you. Mrs. Hudson watched her for a moment, soaking up the energy that was radiating from the redhead. Lottie was so incredibly happy here and it was hard to not immediately be lifted by her smile, "I thought it was you playing."

"It was me playing. I am composing." He leaned over his desk to write and Mrs. Hudson followed Lottie to the chairs where she set the tea tray, helping her pour the tea.

"You were dancing." She said, "With Lottie."

"I was road testing. Lottie was…assisting." Sherlock glanced at Lottie with the hint of a smile and she returned the favor.

"You what?" Mrs. Hudson said.

Sherlock stood up straight, "Why are you here?"

"I'm bringing you your morning tea. You're not usually awake. Neither of you are." She took the cup that Lottie had poured for her and sat in John's old chair.

"You bring us tea in the morning?" Sherlock also took a cup and sat down. The women chuckled at his question.

"Well, where did you think it came from?" Lottie poured herself a cup and sat in Sherlock's lap.

"I dunno, I just thought it sort of happened."

"Your mother has a lot to answer for." Mrs. Hudson remarked.

"Mmm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file." He sipped his tea and Lottie smiled at him.

"So, it's the big day, then."

"What big day?"

Lottie almost choked on her tea, "The wedding, Sherlock!"

"John and Mary are getting married." Said Mrs. Hudson.

"Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

Lottie's heart grew heavy at Sherlock's words, but she didn't say anything. She simply stood and took the used, empty tea cups into the kitchen. Sherlock watched her with a confused silence. He could almost hear her heart crack just by the look on her features, but he wasn't sure what he'd said wrong. He looked to Mrs. Hudson and she sighed.

"It changes people, marriage." She said.

"Mmm, no, it doesn't."

"Well, you wouldn't understand 'cause you always live alone."

"No, I don't. I live with Lottie."

"Yes, I know, but it's been a year, Sherlock, and I never hear any – "

"Your husband was executed for double murder, you're hardly an advert for companionship." He cut her off before she overstepped her boundaries.

"Marriage changes you as a person in ways that you can't imagine."

"As does lethal injection."

"My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid, we were going to be best friends forever, we always said that. But I hardly saw her after that."

"Aren't there usually biscuits?" Sherlock stood, clearly finished with the current conversation.

"I've run out."

"Have the shops?"

"She cried the whole day, saying, 'Ooh, it's the end of an era.'"

Sherlock stood at the door, "I'm sure the shop on the corner is open."

"She was probably right, really. I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad."

"Mmm. Anyway, you've got things to do."

"No, not really. I've got plenty of time."

"Biscuits!"

Mrs. Hudson jumped at his tone and stood from John's old chair, "I really am going to have a word with your mother."

"You can if you like, she understands very little." He closed the door behind her and sighed. He could hear Lottie piddling in the bathroom down the hall and he cautiously peeked inside, knowing he'd upset her. She was taking the last of the curlers out of her hair and he rested his hands on her bare hips. She shivered from his touch and took a deep breath. He seemed nervous and she locked eyes with him through the mirror in front of them.

"Isn't your mother a mathematician?" she asked.

"I said she understands little, not nothing?"

She rolled her eyes but one corner of her mouth tugged up and Sherlock's eyes turned worried, "What did I say?"

Lottie shook her head, turned to face him and put her palms on his chest, "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

Sherlock searched her eyes but she gave him a smile and started pushing him towards the bedroom. She was too excited about the events of the day to start this conversation with him, "Come on, into battle."

Overall the wedding turned out to be a success, even after Sherlock's rocky best man speech and after one of John's closest friends and honored guests was almost murdered right in the middle of the speech. After that crisis was averted and the festivities (and Sherlock's speech) continued, everyone filed into the room next door, set up with a dance floor and live music and disco lights. Before everyone was set loose to dance the night away, it was Sherlock's turn to give his wedding gift. He stood on the stage, violin in hand as John and Mary took their place in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by their closest friends and family, all that they could have ever asked for. Lottie stood with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Tom, and Janine, watching John led his new wife around the dance floor with grace. Lottie closed her eyes and let Sherlock's playing sink in, remembering earlier that morning when it was Sherlock who was leading her around their living room. She was never very good at dancing, however she was pleasantly surprised to find that he was. She remembered the way he smiled at her when she laughed at her clumsy footing, something he didn't seem to mind. If there was any doubt about Sherlock's feelings were before he "committed suicide" there definitely wasn't the case now. He treated her like a prized jewel, terrified of losing her, of seeing her shatter. She was his and he was hers, end of story.

The song ended and Lottie opened her eyes to the sound of applause, looking up at Sherlock as he took a bow. She joined in the crowd, clapping her hands together and catching Sherlock's eye with a smile. He picked his boutonniere from his music stand and tossed it to her and she bit her lip bashfully.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just one last thing before the evening begins properly." Sherlock announced, "Apologies for earlier, a crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I have never made a vow in my life and after tonight I never will again. So,"

Sherlock glanced over at Lottie and had an overwhelming since of Deja Vu. Her whole composure had fallen and even John gave the redhead a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock paused and sucked in a breath but the crowd was waiting. He would have to decipher his girlfriend after his speech.

"So, here, in front of you all, my first and last vow." He did his best to ignore Lottie's anxious fidgeting and John's unapprovingly deep breaths, "Mary and John. Whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you. Uh, I'm sorry, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact, I just miscounted. Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please. Thank you."

Sherlock stole a glance at Lottie as Lestrade lead her to the dance floor, the strobe lights bouncing off of her red hair as he made his way to John and Mary who were both standing there dumbfounded, obviously waiting for an explanation from him.

"Sorry," he started, "That was one more deduction than I was really expecting."

"Deduction?" Mary asked.

"Increased appetite. Change of taste perception. You were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding doubts. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there."

"The signs?"

Sherlock hesitated, holding back a rare, genuine smile, mostly reserved for Lottie, "The signs of three."

"What?" Mary breathed, feeling the panic rising in her throat.

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test." He stammered, "The statistics for the first trimester are…"

"Shut up!" John stopped him, "Just shut up."

"Sorry."

John turned to his new wife, "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."

"It's your day off." Sherlock replied.

"It's your day off!"

"Stop panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"I'm pregnant, I'm panicking." Mary put in.

"Don't panic." Sherlock said, "None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic."

"Oh, and you'd know, of course?"

"Yes, I would."

John and Mary both stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. At first Sherlock couldn't understand why they were looking at him like that and then it hit him and he sucked in a breath, "No! No, no, no, no. Lottie is not…I mean, we're not…we haven't…" he shook his head, "No, neither of you have any reason to panic because you're already the best parents in the world, look at all the practice you've had."

"What practice?" John's eyebrows were furrowed in anxious confusion.

"Well, you're hardly going to need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way."

Sherlock smiled at the slow growing grin that was forming on John's face. John clapped his shoulder with a broad smile and an excited laugh. He turned to Mary and held her face, both of them overjoyed with the idea of a baby of their own, but when John turned back to Sherlock his face fell. There was a silent conversation exchanged, both of them knowing that if things weren't different now, then they surely would be with a baby. After a short awkward silence, Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Dance!" he proclaimed, "Both of you now, go dance. We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about."

"What about you?" Mary adjusted Sherlock's tie with tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat. She couldn't seem to stop smiling she was so happy.

"Well, we can't all three dance, there are limits." John said.

"Yes, there are." Sherlock agreed. Mary gave him a knowing smile before turning to John.

"Come on, husband, let's go."

"This isn't a waltz, is it?" John replied.

"No."

"Don't worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him." Sherlock assured.

"He did, you know." John said, "Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumors started."

Mary laughed, "What about Lottie? Where is she?"

Sherlock smiled, "I believe my Lottie is dancing with Gary,"

"Greg." Mary and John corrected.

"Greg. Yes. She was dancing with Greg last I saw her."

Mary smiled, leaned up to kiss his cheek before John wrapped his arm around her waist to sweep her off to the dance floor. Sherlock watched with the rarest of twinkles in his eyes and then suddenly he came back to reality. He was surrounded by people dancing the night away and all of the sudden he could find no one that he knew, not even Lottie or Lestrade or Tom and Molly. He stood there rather awkwardly until he spotted Janine on the other side of the dance floor. She smiled at him and he started for her until he realized that she was dancing with one of the men that he and Lottie had picked out for her earlier. He stopped short and blinked, feeling completely out of place. He stepped back up onto the stage and folded up the sheet music that was John and Mary's first dance, sliding it back into the envelope labeled "Dr. and Mrs. Watson" in his handwriting. He retrieved his coat and started for the exit, taking one last sweep around the dance floor to look for Lottie, starting to get a little worried when he couldn't find her until he saw it. His boutonniere that he had tossed to her after his violin piece sitting on one of the stone pillars just outside the venue. He creased his eyebrows and stepped outside, swinging his coat around his frame and sliding his arms into the sleeves before adjusting it on his shoulders. He picked up the small flower arrangement and scanned the area for red hair, spotting her at the end of the walk way. She was resting her elbows on one of the stone pillars and staring up at the stars and Sherlock took a moment to himself before approaching her, studying her for her when nobody else was around. She had goose bumps on her arms and legs from the cool air and a look on her features that he recognized, the only person he didn't mind to watch think. He took a deep breath in through his nose and started towards her and she rested her chin on her own shoulder to look at him upon hearing his footsteps, a soft smile on her lips.

"Why aren't you inside dancing?" he asked.

"I needed some air."

He gave her a look, "Were you getting anxious?"

She chuckled, "No, Sherly."

Something made him think of the look on her face during part of his best man speech and he blinked down at the cobblestone walkway the stood on. At this point in their relationship there wasn't a whole lot that either of them didn't know about the other, nor was there a lot that either of them didn't feel comfortable talking about. Never in a million years did Sherlock think he would ever have with anyone, ever; but Lottie, sweet, stubborn, irrational, headstrong, curious Charlotte Blakely. She came into his life and completely turned it upside down. Standing there watching her with such a perplexed look about her, knowing fully well he was probably the one that made her this way, a part of him wished John was there to tell him what he'd done wrong. But this was it, John was married to Mary with a baby on the way. Sherlock was going to have to do this on his own. But just as he was about to ask Lottie spoke up as if she was reading his mind.

"Do you really think that little of marriage?" she said. He blinked, recalling some of the comments that he'd made in the past 24 hours and his heart sank. With just this little tidbit of insight into her thoughts he knew exactly what she was thinking. But before he could respond she continued her thought process.

"I mean, it's not like I'm ready to get married now, and, I mean, I know you, but I just," she was starting to stutter and she was doing the thing with her hands when she got anxious, something he couldn't bear to watch, especially when he was the cause. He closed the space between them and in one quick motion kissed her lips, gently moving in time with her until he felt her relax under his touch, something he knew would calm her nerves. When they parted she smiled and Sherlock returned the favor, kissing her forehead just as the music inside the reception venue slowed the pace. Lottie looked up at him with so much love and adoration in her eyes and Sherlock wondered what on earth he'd done to deserve it.

"Lottie, there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. You're the most important thing in my life."

She smiled, "Dance with me?"

He took a step back and held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation and he held her frame with his other arm, just like they had done that morning. The danced in a comfortable silence for a while and Lottie rested her cheek on his chest, taking in his scent and he kissed the top of her head.

"You love to dance." She said suddenly.

"Hmm?" he hummed, completely content.

"That's what you told Janine."

 _Red flag._ He pulled back and looked down at her, "What do you mean?"

"You told Janine that you loved to dance."

"Are you…jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"Lottie, I," he started to speak about how there was no way that he could love anyone else and then it hit him. He stopped talking and Lottie cocked an eyebrow. She knew that look.

"Sherlock?"

He suddenly came back from his mind palace or wherever it was his mind had wandered to and he looked down at her, "Lottie, there is absolutely no reason for you to be jealous, I can promise you that. However, I'm going to need you to trust me."


	9. Chapter 9

John opened up the boot of the car and pulled a piece of metal from the floor, tucking it in his trousers and slamming the door shut. He was mumbling to himself, a mixture of tired and angry and irritated, among other things, and going into a drug den to fetch his emotional neighbor's son was not something he particularly wanted to do today. After the worried mother had come knocking on his and Mary's door in the wee hours of the morning crying that her son, Isaac had not come home the night before, John volunteered to go fetch him. The boy had apparently gotten into some bad drugs and couldn't seem to make his way home. John came around the other side of the car and Mary started laughing at him from the passenger's seat.

"What is that?" she pointed to the metal stuck down his pants leg.

"It's a tire lever." He replied.

"Why?"

"Because there were loads of smack-heads in there and one of them might need help with a tire. If there's any trouble, just go, I'll be fine." He started for the run-down building but Mary called out for him to wait up. He stopped and turned to her as she stepped out of the car with a sheepish smirk.

"It is a tiny bit sexy."

The corners of his mouth turned up, "Yeah, I know."

He turned back for the building, following a small alleyway that lead to the entrance to the building; a big red door with sign reading 'PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT.' Stood before him and he banged his fist on the metal, calling out to whoever might answer. It didn't take long for someone to crack the door open and look John up and down suspiciously.

"What do you want?" the man kind of looked like a rat and John was really not in the mood for his attitude.

"Excuse me." He rammed the door with both hands and shoved it open, pushing the man back out of the way so that he could step inside. He walked right past him and straight to the back, wanting to get in, get the boy, and get out.

"Hey," the man protested, "You can't come in here."

"I'm looking for a friend." John said, searching the back rooms, but there didn't seem to be anyone else in there besides Rat-Man, "A very specific friend. I'm not just browsing."

"You gotta go. No one's allowed here."

John approached him, clearing his throat, "Isaac Whitney, you seen him?"

Rat-Man said nothing, put pulled out a small knife. John wasn't fazed.

"I'm asking you if you've seen Isaac Whitney and now you're showing me a knife. Is it a clue?"

He gestured around the corner with his weapon, his face very serious, but John merely furrowed his eyebrows, "Are you doing a mime?"

"Go." Rat-Man ordered, "Or I'll cut you."

"Ooh, not from there. Let me help." He took three paces and was standing within stabbing reach of the man and his knife, making Rat-Man a little more than nervous as shown by his faltering features. John held his ground, "Now, concentrate. Isaac Whitney."

"Okay, you asked for it."

Wrong answer. John had had enough. He grabbed the man's wrist and with a twist, two jabs and the kick of his foot, Rat-Man was on the ground groaning in pain.

"Right," John picked up the knife that had slid across the floor, "Are you concentrating yet?"

"You broke my arm." Rat-Man complained.

"No, I sprained it."

"It feels squishy. Is it supposed to feel squishy? Feel that."

"Yeah, it's a sprain. I'm a doctor, I know how to sprain people. Now, where is Isaac Whitney?"

"I don't know."

John gave him a look.

"Maybe upstairs."

"There you go. Wasn't that easy?" John patted his leg and started for the concrete stairs across the room.

"No, it was really sore." Rat-Man called out, "Mental, you are."

"No, just used to a better class of criminal."

When he reached the second floor the sound of people coughing and rustling about reached his ear. Around the corner from the stairs was a large open space with mattresses, chairs, sheets, and pillows scattered about, all of them full of men and women, boys and girls vegetating in a dazed state. John wrinkled his nose at the rankness and strode into the room, calling out for Isaac until one of the boys raised his hand. John recognized him from some of the few encounters they'd had back at the building they'd shared and he was at his side in a few steps. He greeted him in a soft whisper, sitting him up so that he could properly examine him. The boy recognized him, which was a good sign, but he was so out of it, it was a wonder he was still conscious.

"Where am I?" Isaac slurred.

"Arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth." John replied, "Look at me?"

"Have you come for me?"

"Do you think I know a lot of people here?"

Isaac tried to laugh, but it was as if his face was numb and he couldn't really get the sound out. John put a hand on his shoulder to steady him and, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on him, a very familiar voice greeted him from behind.

"Oh, hello, John. Didn't expect to see you here."

John stilled, mouth agape, preparing himself in case the voice belonged to who he thought it did before he actually turned around to look. Lo and behold, Sherlock lay on the mattress behind him, grungy and half in a daze. He smiled at his old flat mate, "Come for me, too?"

John took a deep breath through his nose and sent Isaac off to the car. Mary greeted the boy as he stumbled out of the building and politely asked if he could get in, even if his words weren't completely sound.

"Yes, of course, get in." Mary said, "Where's John?"

"They're having a fight." Isaac replied.

"Who is?"

Almost as if on cue, one of the doors opened, or rather, came flying off the hinges, and was followed closely by the sound of Sherlock's angry voice. Mary's turned her attention to the fire escape stairs where Sherlock, dressed in dirty, grungy sweatpants, and shirt and jacket, came waltzing down the stairs, a very pissed of John close behind.

"For God's sakes, John. I'm on a case." Sherlock shouted.

"A month, that's all it took. One!" John retorted.

"I'm working."

"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den, how is that going to look?"

Both of them cleared the fire escape railings and a brick wall, landing amongst the piles of rubbish on the other side just as Mary pulled up next to them.

"I'm undercover." Sherlock explained.

"No, you're not." John said.

"Well, I'm not now!"

"In, both of you, quickly." Mary was having none of this. She leaned her head back, taking deep breaths to keep calm as the boys clambered into the car. Once they were both in and she was about to take off, she was stopped by Rat-Man standing in front of the car.

"Please, can I come? I think I got a broken arm." He said.

"No, go away." Was her immediate reply, but John shook his head.

"No, let him."

"Why?"

He leaned his head out the window to address the man, "Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain."

Mary sighed, "Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

Rat-Man climbed in next to Sherlock and nodded his head, "All right, Shezza?"

"Shezza?" John turned to them.

"I was undercover." Sherlock repeated, eyeing his old flat mate.

"Seriously, Shezza, though?" Mary smirked into the rearview mirror.

"We're not going home, we're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly." John pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing and putting the mobile to his ear.

"Why?"

"Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, cleaning his face with a wet clothe as Mary put the car in drive and sped off towards the infamous hospital. John explained the situation to Molly on the phone and turned back to Sherlock once he'd hung up.

"Molly's upset." Sherlock deduced.

"That's putting it lightly." John replied, "You know, where on earth is Lottie? Shouldn't she be taking care of you, being your girlfriend and all?"

There was silence in the car and Mary eyed him from the rearview mirror again. John furrowed his eyebrows, "What did you do?"

"Why do you automatically assume it was something that I did?" Sherlock sounded angry, but one look into his eyes and John knew something was wrong. Now that he thought about it, this was really the first time that he'd ever seen Sherlock without Lottie, or vice versa. He sighed.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"I don't know. France with Bekah? Doncaster with her parents?"

John gave a disbelieving chuckle, "You, not know something? Wait no, let me say again, you not know where Lottie is?"

Sherlock gave him a look and he shook his head. He would have to call the redhead later, find out what the hell had happened to make them split up. That could very well have been the reason that Sherlock was in this predicament in the first place. Sherlock loved Lottie, more than he'd ever loved anyone or anything. John just couldn't believe that something like this would happen.

* * *

Once they got to Bart's, and finally managed to make Sherlock pee into a jar, Molly immediately started the lab work and within a few hours they got the results back. She set down her equipment and yanked the gloves off of her hands with angry snaps, obviously gritting her teeth to keep from doing anything too irrational.

"Well," John spoke up, "Is he clean?"

Molly looked at him, "Clean?"

One look at her face and the tone in her voice told him all that he needed. John pursed his lips in understanding and Molly approached the very pissed off looking Sherlock. Without hesitation, her palm made contact with his face once, then twice without too much damage. But one more smack across his cheek had him stumbling back and massaging his skin, checking for all of his teeth with his tongue.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you're sorry."

"Sorry your engagement's over." Was Sherlock's reply, stretching his jaw open and closed, "Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it. Just stop it."

"If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again you could have called, you could have talked to me." John put in, his voice low, "Especially if Lottie was gone."

"Oh, please, do relax." Sherlock was starting to have enough, "This is all for a case."

"A ca…What kind of case would need you doing this?"

"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work."

There was a brief pause and John shook his head, "No, we're not playing this game."

"Quite recently, I'd say, you're very determined about it."

"Not interested."

"I am." Rat-Man spoke up. Everyone's attention turned to him when he let out a yelp of pain. Mary apologized, continuing to bandage up his arm.

"Oh, sorry, you moved," she said, "But it is just a sprain."

"Yeah, somebody hit me…Just some guy." He looked over to John and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, silently deducing the scene in which Rat-Man got his arm sprained by John in mere seconds back at the drug den.

"Yeah, it was probably just an addict in need of a fix." John mused, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes, I think in a way it was." Sherlock said.

"Is it his shirt?" Rat-Man said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, it's the creases, innit? The two creases down the front? It's been recently folded but it's not new. You must have dressed in a hurry this morning. So all your shirts might be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there and then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack."

John gave the man the nastiest look anyone had ever scene. Sherlock, he could handle on most days. Just Sherlock. But two Sherlock's was the last thing John wanted in that moment.

"Not bad." Sherlock praised.

"And I further deduce," Rat-Man continued, much to Sherlock's surprise, "You've only started recently because you've got a bit of chafing."

"No, he's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again?"

"They call me The Wig."

"No, they don't."

He hesitated, "Well, they call me Wiggy."

"Nope."

"Bill. Bill Wiggins."

"Nice observational skills, Billy."

In the midst of all this, John scooted closer to Molly, speaking in a low voice so that no one else would hear and she leaned her ear in towards him.

"Where the fuck is Lottie?" John said.

Molly thinned her lips and looked up at him with really sad eyes. She merely shook her head and gave the smallest of shrugs. Okay, something wasn't right here. Sherlock's phone sounded and he immediately pulled it from his pocket to read the new message.

' _It's done. They took the story. -CB'_

"Ah, finally!"

"Finally what?" Molly dared.

"Good news?" Billy said.

"Oh, excellent news, the best." Sherlock started vigorously typing a reply.

' _Good. Where are you now? –SH'_

' _In a cab. On my way to the airport. Just like you said. - CB'_

' _I'm calling you. – SH'_

"There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on." Sherlock held the phone at his ear, starting for the door, "Excuse me for a second."

John let out a deep breath, massaging his temples in an attempt to rid himself of the oncoming headache. Mary approached him, discussing what they were going to do with Sherlock and Billy, which eventually turned into an argument. Molly bit her lip, watching the two anxiously, full of worry for them, but also extremely curious to Sherlock's mysterious phone call and odd behavior patterns. She knew that Lottie hadn't been around much lately, and that's when Sherlock's problems started back up again. After everything that happened with Sherlock's fake suicide, she and Lottie were in a good place now, and she was almost a little worried about the redhead.

Molly knew Sherlock wouldn't be just outside the door, in case anyone heard him, so she took a small risk and, when no one was watching, she slipped out the same door Sherlock had exited a few minutes before. She was correct, he'd gone down the hall and around the corner, but he wasn't talking in any sort of whisper, much to her surprise, so she didn't have to get too close to hear his end of the phone conversation.

"I want you to be here, too, believe me, I…"

There was a pause and Molly furrowed her eyebrows. Who on earth was he talking to?

"I know you don't like this, but this is for your own good. For your safety…I know…Do you trust me?...I promise, just a few days…I love you, so much. Be safe, and text me when you get there…I'll always stay with you."

Molly heard his steps and quietly slipped back into the lab just before he did. He eyed her and she looked him straight in the eye but he said nothing. He knew she'd been eavesdropping. John ushered him out and he took one more glance back at Molly before following John outside. Mary had already left to take Billy home or wherever it was that he stayed and Isaac back to his mother and John hailed a cab for the two of them. Once they were on the road, Sherlock started to explain.

"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course?" he said.

"Yeah, owns some newspapers." John answered, "Ones I don't read."

As he was speaking, Sherlock realized just how quiet it was and he started to look around the cab, "Hang on. Weren't there other people?"

"Mary's taking the boys home, I'm taking you. We discussed it."

"People were talking, none of them me, I must have filtered."

"I noticed."

"Had to filter a load of witless babble, I've had Mrs. Hudson on semi-permanent mute."

"Okay, but what about Lottie? You still haven't told me what happened."

This was not something Sherlock wanted to talk about right now. He was having a hard enough time as it was, "I told you. She's either with Bekah or her parents."

"Is this what all this is about? Lottie? Did you do or say something to really upset her and now she's gone?"

"John," Sherlock warned him but John was not having it.

"How long has she been gone?"

Sherlock hesitated, "A month."

"One month? That's how long it took without her, one month without Lottie for you to start using again."

"Is this what you think, John? That without Lottie I'll just fall to pieces?"

"Yes."

There was a moment where Sherlock wasn't really sure what to say. This didn't happen often, and the fact that it always happened when he was talking about Lottie struck him as very important information. It was becoming a pattern. He took a deep breath, locking eyes with his best friend. John was completely right; Sherlock desperately needed Lottie. This past month without her had been more painful than the two years after his jump. It took Sherlock almost a whole year to get his mind palace cleaned up of the red that tainted it without Lottie after that, but now it was returning, very slowly. But this was for her own good. Her safety. He just had to keep that in mind. He took a deep breath as the cab pulled up to 221b Baker Street and just when John thought he was going to spill everything he let a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"What is my brother doing here?" He got out of the car and John huffed, grabbing his wallet from his trouser pockets.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" he called.

"He's straightened the knocker." Sherlock said, standing at the door, "He always corrects it. He's OCD. Doesn't even know he's doing it."

Sherlock pushed the knocker to the side and opened the door to step inside, John following closely behind him.

"Why did you do that?" John asked.

"Do what?"

"Nothing."

Just inside the flat they found Mycroft sitting on the stairs waiting for them. Sherlock rolled his eyes again and set his keys on the table by the door.

"Well, then, Sherlock," said Mycroft, "Back on the sauce?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said.

"I phoned him." John said. Sherlock looked at him with an almost shocked expression.

"The siren call of old habits." Mycroft smirked, "How very like Uncle Rudy, though in many ways, cross-dressing would've been a wiser path for you."

"You phoned him?" Sherlock said, addressing John but never taking his eyes off of his brother.

"Course I bloody phoned him. You wouldn't tell me what happened to Lottie, so I had no choice." John replied.

"Course he bloody did." Mycroft said, "Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows just as a very familiar voice came from upstairs.

"Mr. Holmes?" Anderson called.

Sherlock's features went from mildly irritated to simply livid in a very quick moment, calling out in anger and stomping up the steps to his flat, breathless when he found Anderson and some other woman he didn't recognize tramping about his kitchen.

"Anderson?" he said.

"Sorry, Sherlock," Anderson held up his hands in defense, "It's for you own good."

"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" the woman said, eyeing Sherlock up and down as he flipped up the hood of his jacket and started for his chair, "He's said to be taller."

"Some members of your little fan club, to be polite." Mycroft explained, "They're entirely trustworthy. Even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you were pleased to call a flat."

Sherlock ignored him, curling up in his chair, pouting and yawning like a child as his older brother continued to scold him, "You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not have a drug habit." Sherlock growled.

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" John stood in the living area where his chair normally sat. Sherlock looked up at him sheepishly.

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen."

"Well, it's good to be missed."

"Yeah, you were gone, I saw an opportunity."

"No, you saw the kitchen. And didn't Lottie usually sit in my chair once I was gone?"

Sherlock gave him a look. John was not going to rest until he told him what happened between him and the redhead. Sherlock would have to do something about it or this plan would never work.

"What have you found so far?" Mycroft asked, "Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing to find." Sherlock shouted.

"Your bedroom door is shut, you haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

Mycroft started for Sherlock's bedroom and he immediately bolted upright as soon he got just a little too close, "Okay, stop! Just stop!"

Mycroft put his hand on the door handle but didn't open it.

"Point made." Sherlock sat up straight in his chair, eyeing his brother with daggers.

"I'll have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma." Mycroft stepped away from the door and back into the living area, "Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line dancing."

Sherlock got to his feet and, after staggering for a moment, approached his brother with the calmest of tones, "This is not what you think, this is for a case."

As soon as he spoke, John knew that Mycroft had crossed a line. But the elder brother continued without a thought, "What case could possibly justify this?"

"Magnussen." Sherlock watched the smirk slide right off his brother's face as he spoke, "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Mycroft turned back to Anderson and the woman poking through Sherlock's flat, "That name you think you may have just heard, you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you on behalf of the British Security Services that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply, just look frightened and scuttle."

Anderson ushered the woman out and closed the door behind him as Mycroft turned back to John, "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

John gave him a look, "Well, I think we're both fine, isn't' that embarrassing?"

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at his comment, however, Mycroft didn't find it the least bit amusing, "Magnussen is not your business."

"Oh, you mean he's yours?" Sherlock said.

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under this thumb."

"If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me."

"Okay, I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock stepped around him, "Erm…What was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye."

Sherlock held open the door and gestured for Mycroft's departure. He started to leave, but stopped in front of Sherlock, "Unwise, brother mine."

In a flash, Sherlock had his brother pinned to the door frame with one hand, his arm twisted behind his back and the more pressure he put on him, the more pain he caused.

"Brother mine," Sherlock started, letting Mycroft's bones crack under his grip, "Don't appall me when I'm high."

"Mycroft," John warned, really wishing Lottie was here right about now to calm Sherlock down, "Don't say another word, just go. He could snap you in two and right now, I'm slightly worried that he might."

Sherlock released his brother and wandered back into the living room, leaving Mycroft to cradle his arm. He was about to say something but John stopped him, "Don't' speak, just leave."

He bent down to pick up Mycroft's umbrella and handed it over before he stormed out, allowing John to close the door behind him. He stood there a moment, choosing his words carefully before joining Sherlock in the living area, "Uh, Magnussen?"

"What time is it?" Sherlock replied.

"About 8:00."

_She should be there by now._

Sherlock sighed, starting for the bathroom down the hall, "I'll be meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

"It's for a case, you said."

"Yep."

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"You're trying to put me off?"

"God, no. I'm trying to recruit you." He opened the door with a smile and stepped inside, "And stay out of my bedroom."

The door clicked shut, and even against Sherlock's orders, John started for the back bedroom, the one Sherlock used to share with Lottie, the one he was now just calling _his_ bedroom, but before he could even make it back there, the door opened and John was positively shocked to find Janine stepping out in one of Sherlock's shirts.

"Oh, John, hi." She giggled, "How are you?"

John looked her up and down, "Janine?"

"Sorry, not dressed. Has everybody gone? I heard shouting." She started for the kitchen and John was having a hard time thinking straight. What in the bloody hell was going on here?

"Yes, they're gone." He answered her question, trying to wrap his brain around what exactly was going on, but he couldn't seem to find any logical answer.

"God, look at the time, I'll be late." She picked up the coffee pot and started for the coffee maker, "Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?"

"Mike?"

"Mike, yeah, his brother, Mike? They're always fighting."

"Mycroft?" This was not right. John was starting to get worried.

"Do people actually call him that?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

"Sure, right, yeah."

"Thanks." She started back down the hall, "Ooh, how is Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine, we're both fine. Yep." He reached for the cabinet where the coffee was kept, but Janine stopped him.

"Oh, it's over there now."

John froze.

"Where's Sherl?" Janine asked.

"Sherl." He breathed. This was not happening, "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, well, like he ever is!"

"Yeah." He eyed her suspiciously. Something was seriously not right here. No one messed with Lottie's tea and coffee, not in her kitchen. Where the fuck was she?

John started to reach for the coffee in its new cabinet when he heard the bathroom door open and shut, with both Janine and Sherlock inside.

Something was indeed, very wrong.


	10. Chapter 10

"So, she's just a guest but you've probably got some questions."

John sat in the living room, waiting for Sherlock to finish getting dressed. Janine was in the back room getting ready for work, so now it was just the two of them and John had never been more confused in his lifetime. Sherlock was definitely right, some questions was an understatement.

"Yeah, one or two, pretty much."

"Naturally." Sherlock finished adjusting his overcoat and took a seat in his chair. Both he and John glancing at Janine walking down the hall, and John cleared his throat.

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, I have." _Not a lie,_ "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. That's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John? Stood up close to the glass, those floating, flat faces, those dead eyes? That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"Not even when Moriarty called Lottie 'Little Lottie'?" John said.

Sherlock sucked in a breath. _No, John, please don't do this,_ "Sorry, what?"

"You have a girlfriend, that's not Lottie?"

Sherlock tried his hardest to not seem fazed by hearing Lottie's name, or the mention of Moriarty and 'Little Lottie', "What? Yes, I'm going out with Janine now. I thought that was fairly obvious."

"Yes. Well, yes," John cleared his throat, "But I mean, you…you were dating Lottie? For a whole year, you loved her, she loved you. More than anything. What happened?"

"John, I would really appreciate it if you didn't talk about my ex in front of Janine." _Deep breaths, Sherly. This is for her own good, remember?_

"What? So now you really are in a relationship with Janine?"

As much as it pained him, Sherlock sucked it up, looked John straight in the eye, hesitating with tense muscles and confirmed John's greatest fear, "Yes, I am."

"Care to elaborate?"

John was just not going to let this go. Sherlock took another deep breath, "Well, we're in a good place, it's, um," he paused, choosing his words, and forcing the most convincing smile he could, "Very affirming."

"You got that from a book."

"Everyone got that from a book."

"Sherlock, are you going to tell me what you did to Lottie or not?"

But just before Sherlock could confirm or deny anything Janine came in to join them, fully dressed and ready for work with the biggest smile on her face, "Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves. And you, Sherl, you're going to have to tell me where you were last night."

"Working." Sherlock replied, a goofy grin plastered on his face. John couldn't believe his eyes.

"Working?" Janine took a seat in his lap and John felt a strange anger overcome him, getting worse the more she spoke, "Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like. Remember?"

"No, you don't." John cleared his throat when they both looked over at him. Janine furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, and Sherlock tried to mimic her features but there was something there that only John would've caught and he knew there was something more to this. He apologized. Blaming his temper on lack of sleep and Janine stood to leave. Sherlock stood with her and when they got to the door she stopped and turned to John with cautious eyes.

"I haven't told Mary about this, I kind of wanted to surprise her."

"Yeah, I think you probably will." John said, adding under his breath, "You definitely surprised me."

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon."

"Yeah." Sherlock half-heartedly agreed.

"My place, though, not this scuzz dump."

"Great, yeah. Dinner! Yeah." John was really surprised how well Sherlock was keeping his cool. Lottie had worked really hard to keep this place presentable, considering the difficulty of the task and considering who she lived with, John thought she did a great job, and she was the only one who knew Sherlock well enough to keep it just messy enough and arrange his things so that he could still work, and Janine was just throwing all that out the window.

"Oh, I'd better dash. It was brilliant to see you."

"You, too." John stood from his seat, still a little weirded out.

Sherlock saw her out, opening the door for her, much like he'd done with Lottie everywhere they went, "Have a lovely day. Call me later."

Janine turned to him just before stepping out, "I might do. I might call you. Unless I meet someone prettier."

The final straw for John, making him have to turn completely away from the two of them, Janine took Sherlock by the collar and pressed her lips to his, kissing him multiple times before whispering in his ear, "Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes."

She left and Sherlock shut the door behind her, and when he turned back to John, who was just about ready to tear him a new one, his face was stern, uncaring, and completely neutral and John knew right then, that relationship was not real.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner but he is so much more than that." Sherlock continued, "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail. And he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name is Appledore."

Sherlock had unbuttoned his coat and took a seat at his desk to open up the files on this Appledore to show to John, but John had been barely paying him any attention, still thrown off by him and Janine. So when Sherlock turned his laptop screen to show him all he could do was shake his head.

"Dinner." John said.

"Sorry, what, dinner?" Now Sherlock was confused.

"Me and Mary coming for dinner with wine and…sitting."

Sherlock gave him the strangest look, "Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house and you want to talk about dinner?"

"Fine, talk about the house."

Sherlock sighed, "It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. The Alexandrian library of secrets and scandals. And none of it is on a computer. He's smart. Computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house. And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson made her presence known before stepping inside, "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing."

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock."

"Who is it?" John asked, and he almost immediately regretted asking. She hesitated in her answer, but Sherlock seemed to know exactly who it was. He told Mrs. Hudson to have them come up and he and John only had to wait a few minutes for two men in suits to come up the stairs. Sherlock sighed when he saw them and held out his arms so he could be searched for any weapons he might have been carrying, sounding bored, "Go ahead."

The second man approached John apprehensively and he tried to warn him about the knife and tire leaver he still had on him, but the man continued anyway, pulling out the knife and the piece of metal and giving John the strangest look, making for an awkward moment before John leaned in to whisper to him, "Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I can vouch for this man, he is a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is. Don't you, Mr. Magnussen?"

The men searching them stepped aside and John found the he both was and wasn't surprised to find a tall man dressed in glasses and grey suit standing in their doorway. He looked to Sherlock, standing calm and composed as usual.

"I understood we were meeting at your office." He said.

Magnussen looked around, "This is my office."

He stepped inside eyeing John through his classes. Shark was the perfect representation for this man as far as John was concerned. He even looked like one, with his receding hairline and grey scruff of a beard. John would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little violated.

"Well, it is now." Said Magnussen. He picked up some papers off of Sherlock's desk and took a seat on the couch across the room. Sherlock raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters. Some time ago you put pressure on her concerning those letters." Sherlock has a slight smirk on his face, choosing his words carefully, "She would like those letters back. Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you so with that in mind…"

As Sherlock spoke, John watched this man that was supposed to be so dangerous to the Western world. He was eyeing Sherlock, almost like he was reading a file, literally. He chuckled, causing Sherlock to stop speaking. John saw his brain start working a million miles a minute just like it always did when he was deducing something for a case.

"Something I said?" he asked. Though John was fairly sure he already knew the answer to his own question.

"No, no. I was reading." Magnussen reached for his glasses and John was surprised to find that his assumption was right. Sherlock waited patiently for him to speak, standing tall and confident in his work, until Magnussen started to speak again.

"There's rather a lot." He muttered.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and he found his heart rate increasing, unafraid to admit to himself that he was a little worried that his plan hadn't worked. He was actually doubting himself for a moment, but he let out a small, unnoticeable breath when Magnussen choose Redbeard as his weakness. Though he still felt his features falter at the name, surprised he hadn't said something about his supposed drug habits. But then, the one thing that he really feared struck him right in his heart as the name slipped from Magnussen's lips, making his breath catch and John furrowed his eyebrows, looking between the two men with concern.

"Charlotte Eloise Blakely."

There was a pause and Sherlock took a few deep breaths before Magnussen waved it off, shaking his head and bringing himself back to the conversation at hand, "Sorry. Sorry, you were probably talking?"

"I…" Sherlock cleared his throat, gathering his bearings, "I was trying to explain that I have been asked to act on behalf…"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen interrupted, addressing one of the men that had accompanied him.

"Along from the kitchen, sir." The man replied.

"Okay."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters." Sherlock continued, "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents…"

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" he interrupted again.

"Sir?" his bodyguard questioned.

"The bathroom?"

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then."

John glanced over at Sherlock, observing his features especially after he stuttered at the mention of Lottie's name and found him to be growing extremely frustrated as he tried to continue to speak without being interrupted, "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen said nothing at first, gazing out the window at the rare English sun before speaking, "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her."

"Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English with a spine." He put his foot on the coffee table in front of him and pushed it away from the couch. Sherlock adjusted his stance, doing his best to keep his cool as Magnussen stood and continued with his speech approaching John and Sherlock as one of his bodyguards removed the cover from the fireplace behind them, "Best thing about the English; You're so domesticated. Always standing around, apologizing. Keeping your little heads down."

He stepped past them, unzipping his trousers. John and Sherlock exchanged a glance without a word but Magnussen wasn't finished yet, "You can do what you like here, no one's ever gonna stop you. A nation of herbivores."

Much to John's surprise, their visitor was urinating on the fireplace, and he was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut, but Sherlock gave him a look, listening to Magnussen's speech without a word, "I've interests all over the world but, uh, everything starts in England. If it works here, I'd try it in a real country."

He finished his business, zipped up his trousers and took a wet wipe from his bodyguard, cleaning off his hands, "The United Kingdom, eh? Petri dish to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those for later, so…I'm keeping them." He dropped the wipe on the floor, "Goodbye."

He started to walk away but turned back to them at the last minute, chuckling, as he pulled the letters from inside his coat pocket, "Anyway, they're funny."

He walked out of the flat, followed by his bodyguards and John cursed as soon as they were alone, turning to Sherlock to ask what exactly was going on but he was surprised to find a mischievous grin etched onto his best friend's face.

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock said.

John had trouble finding the words he wanted, "There was a moment that kind of struck in the mind, yeah."

"Exactly. When he showed us the letters." Sherlock stepped past him and he shook his head, deciding to continue on Sherlock's way.

"So," Sherlock continued, "He's brought the letters to London. So no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses, the 'pressure point', he calls it. So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat." He pulled his coat on and watched Magnussen get into his car from the living room window, "And of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe, in his London office, while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from 7:00 till 10:00."

"How do you know his schedule?"

"Because I do. Right, I'll see you tonight. I've got some shopping to do." He started down the stairs and John called after him.

"What's tonight?"

"I'll text instructions."

"I'll text you if I'm available."

"You are, I checked!"

John rolled his eyes and started down the stairs after him, closing the door behind them once they were outside.

"Don't bring a gun." Sherlock instructed.

"Why would I bring a gun?"

"Or a knife or a tire lever, probably best not to do any arm-spraining but we'll see how this night goes." He hailed a taxi and waited for one to pull up.

"You're just assuming I'm coming along?"

"Time you got out of the house, John. You've put on seven pounds since you got married and the cycling isn't doing it."

John thought a moment before answering as the cab pulled up to the curb, "It's actually four pounds."

"Mary and I think seven. See you later."

"Now wait just a minute." John put his hands on the rolled down window to stop the car from moving, "When he said there was a lot of them. Did he mean pressure points? Is that what he was doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, John."

"Oh, yes, you do. Redbeard? And Lottie?"

Sherlock said nothing, thinning his lips the way he did when he knew he'd lost to John.

"Are you going to tell me what happened to Lottie or not?"

Sherlock sighed. If he wanted this to work he would have to get John off of his back about Lottie. This was not something that he wanted to do, though he already had something planned in case it came down to this, "John, I made a mistake. It's my fault she's gone and she's never coming back."

"Sherlock, what did you do to her?"

"She wants something that I couldn't give her, so she went back to her parents in Doncaster."

John sighed, "Sherlock,"

"No, John. I don't want to talk about it, and neither does she. She said she wanted nothing to do with me, or you, or this life anymore. So, please," he looked him straight in the eyes, "Do us both a favor and just let it be."

John stood there a moment and when he finally decided that's all he was going to get, he stepped back from the car and watched it drive off. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up to the clouds above, cursing Sherlock's lack of people skills. Lottie was good for him, and he ruined it. He shook his head and stuck his hand out to call another taxi to take him home. But down the road in the cab that was taking Sherlock to his destination, his phone sounded from his coat pocket and he pulled it out, quickly sliding open the screen to read the message.

' _Yes! – CB'_

He was unable to hide the biggest smile when he read the message. It was probably the greatest message he'd received in his whole life, he'd just wished she was there to share it with him.


	11. Chapter 11

John approached the ginormous office building with the address that Sherlock had texted him for their appointment. He stepped inside, taking in his surroundings. It seemed to be your average office, with just a little bit more security than usual; TVs everywhere, phones ringing off the hook, everyone dressed in smart office attire and policemen at every corner. With no sunlight coming in from outside, the bright florescent lights caused everything to reflect off of the huge windows that made up most of the walls, and Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John glanced around once more and was about to pull his phone out to call the detective when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

"Megnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat." Sherlock said, inclining his head to the elevator that was, to John's assumption, supposed to take them to their destination. Sherlock started walking and John fell into step next to him, listening intently to Sherlock's words, "There are 14 layers of security between us and him, two of which aren't even legal in this country. Want to know how we're going to break in?"

John shifted his eyes, "Is that what we're doing?"

"Of course it's what we're doing. Magnussen's private lift, goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed." They stopped onto the escalator that brought them up to the second floor, just outside the elevator where they stopped and Sherlock pulled a card from his pocket and held it up for John to see, "Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?"

John hesitated. He always hated when Sherlock made him do this. Lottie always enjoyed the challenge and now he was really wishing she was here right now so he wouldn't have to endure this, "The alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security."

"Exactly."

"You're taken to a small room somewhere, your head kicked in."

"Do we really need so much color?"

"It passes the time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling his phone from his pocket, "But if I do this…" he pressed the key card to the screen of his phone, "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip, the card stops working. It's a common problem, never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?"

"It still doesn't work."

"But it doesn't read as the wrong card now. It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen? Would they risk dragging him off?"

"Probably not."

"So what do they do? What do they have to do?"

"Check if it's him or not."

"There's camera at eye height to the right of the door. A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office, the only people trusted to make a positive ID. At this hour, almost certainly his PA." Sherlock smirked and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"So, how does that help us?"

Sherlock looked at him smugly, "Human error. I've been shopping."

John took a deep, very confused breath and followed Sherlock to the lift, keeping out of view of the camera. Sherlock also took a deep breath just before swiping the card over the scanner. There was no going back now and John was eyeing the passersby nervously. This was one of the craziest things that they'd ever done, and they had done a lot of crazy things over the past few years. He was running through all of the things that could possibly go wrong in his head, things he was sure Sherlock had already worked out, but by god, he wished he would at least keep him a little bit more informed.

"You realize you don't' exactly look like Magnussen?" John pointed out.

"Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage." He smiled into the camera as a very familiar voice came from the speaker. John couldn't' believe his ears.

" _Sherlock, you complete loon, what are you doing?"_ Janine scolded.

"Hang on, is that-?"

"Hi, Janine." Sherlock held up a hand to stop John from speaking and giving them away, "Go on, let me in."

" _I can't, you know I can't. Don't be silly."_

"Don't make me do it out here, not…" he looked around, giggling like a little school girl, "In front of everyone."

" _Do what in front of everyone?"_

Sherlock took a deep breath and held up a box with one of the most beautiful rings John had ever seen. It had a gold band, a beautiful clear-cut diamond in the middle, and, to John's surprise and suspicion, there were two red gems set on either side, exactly like the one set in the locket that Sherlock had gotten for Lottie four years ago. John couldn't believe his eyes, this could not be real. He heard Janine gasp through the speaker and Sherlock had the biggest smile on his face as the door to the elevator sprang open.

"You see?" Sherlock stuffed the ring back in his pocket, "As long as there's people, there's always a weak spot."

He started to step into the lift, but John stopped him, "That was Janine."

"Yes, of course it was Janine, she's Magnussen's PA, that's the whole point."

There it was. The whole point, John knew something wasn't right here, "Did you just get engaged to break into an office?"

"Yeah. Stroke of luck meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit."

They stepped into the elevator and John stuttered his way into scolding Sherlock, "I knew this relationship wasn't real."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, "What do you mean? Of course it's real, I've just proposed to her."

"No, I see it in your eyes, in your mannerisms. You still love Lottie, and I don't know where she is but she's the one you love, not Janine. You only did this so you could get into Magnussen's office."

Sherlock didn't say anything. John was right, and Sherlock was usually so good and keeping things like that hidden from people. Lottie was the only one that brought out his human side, his biggest pressure point, his greatest weakness. He wanted to tell John, but now was not the time. He needed to keep him in the dark just a little longer, and they didn't have time to discuss it now, but John was going to do it anyway.

"Jesus, Sherlock, Janine loves you." He said.

"Yes. Like I said, human error."

John paused, contemplating his words as the elevator doors slid shut, "Human error is right. You're human error involves a red-head that loves you deeply and you probably broke her heart just for this plan."

Sherlock closed his eyes, doing his best to keep calm, "John, I really wish you would quit bringing her up, it's still a very tinder subject." _That was an understatement if Sherlock ever told one._

"No, because I still don't believe your story about what happened."

Okay, final straw, "John, did you ever think for a moment that Charlotte Blakely broke _my_ heart?"

John stood blinking at him, a crease in his forehead from confusion, waiting for Sherlock to explain. Sherlock sighed, "After your wedding, she brought up the idea of the two of us getting married. I told her I couldn't do it, that I was happy just the way we were. I still think of myself as married to my work. But she wouldn't have it, so she…left me." _Only because I told her to go. It was for her own good._

"What?!"

"So when I said I don't know where she is, I really don't. I've deduced that she's probably with her parents in Doncaster or Bekah in France."

"But you said she was in France."

"More likely. She still wasn't on good terms with her parents the last time we spoke." _Her parents would've never agreed to this plan. Bekah was her only option, she wouldn't be happy with this plan either, but more willing and able to help._

"And how long ago was this again?"

"One month." _One month since he sent her off. One month since his mind palace started to paint itself red again. Once month since he'd kissed her lips, held her in his arms._

_No._

_He would do this. He would do this to keep her safe._

John was silent a moment, "What are you going to do?"

"I said all I could, John. She wanted marriage and I couldn't give it to her." _A lie._

"So you can't marry Lottie, who is pretty much the love of your life, but you can marry my wife's chief bridesmaid to break into an office building?"

"Well, I'm not actually marry her, obviously. There's only so far you can go."

"So what will you tell her?"

"Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss's office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point but you're the expert on women."

Sherlock's heart ached, but it was for the better. This at least got John off of his back, again, and gave him the time he needed to complete his plan. The elevator's doors opened, 26 floors up and he tip-toed inside with that goofy grin on his face that John was beginning to hate, but he followed him inside none-the-less. However, he went straight into battle-mode when they entered the office and found it seemingly empty. Janine should've been waiting for them just outside the elevator, but she was nowhere to be found. No security, no staff, nobody. The two of them looked around, wary and suspicious, and totally flabbergasted.

"So, where did she go?" John asked attentively.

"That's a bit rude." Sherlock replied, "I just proposed to her."

John saw something out of the corner of his eye and called for Sherlock to come over to the corner of the office where Janine lay unconscious.

"Did she faint?" Sherlock asked with a tone of disbelief, "Do they really do that?"

John looked her over, feeling the back of her head for injuries and came back with blood on his hand, "It's a blow to the head. She's breathing. Janine."

She murmured something in reply to his relief and Sherlock peeked around the corner, announcing another body in the next room, "Security."

"Does he need help?" John called.

Sherlock stood over the body and observed from afar, "Ex-con, white supremacist by the tattoos, so who cares? Stick with Janine."

Sherlock could hear John tending to Janine as he investigated the scene before him. Magnussen's chair was still warm, he was still here when he wasn't supposed to be. Some thin wasn't right. John came tip-toeing into the room, his voice at a loud whisper, "Hey! They must still be here."

Sherlock took the same tone, "So is Magnussen, his seat's still warm, he should be at dinner but he's still in the building." He looked around, collecting more data for his brain, "Upstairs."

"We should call the police." John pulled out his phone.

"During our own burglary? You're really not a natural at this are you?"

John sighed and put his phone away, then Sherlock caught a whiff of something. Just a little at first, but he took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to pinpoint the exact fragrance.

"Perfume. Not Janine's"

_Versace? No._

_N5? No._

_Prada? Dior? No._

_Burberry? No, he'd know that one anywhere. Lottie used to sprit just a bit every morning before…_

_Not important right now, Sherly. Concentrate._

"Claire-de-la-lune. Why do I know it?"

"Mary wears it." John pointed out.

"No, not Mary, somebody else."

"Lottie?"

"No, she wears Burberry."

There was a noise from up above and John called out for Sherlock not to go after it, but he ignored him, bounding up the steps two at a time. He paused halfway up, peering up through the spaces in the steps before continuing up, treading quietly one he got to the top so he could eavesdrop on the conversation that was being had in the back room. He kept his breathing low, and his movements minimal, trying to stay invisible until he needed to be seen.

"Coming here?" Magnussen's voice. He sounded scared, "What…what would your husband think? He…Your lovely husband. He's honorable. What would he say to you now?"

His attacker cocked their gun and Sherlock peeked around the corner to observe the scene, staying as quiet as possible so as not to be noticed. Magnussen was on his knees, hands behind his head while someone dressed in all black held a gun to his head.

Magnussen stammered, "You're doing this to protect him from the truth? What is the obsession here with honesty?"

Sherlock paced himself, stepping out into the open, still unnoticed by Magnussen or his attacker, "Additionally, if you're going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood."

Magnussen gasped, "Sorry, who?"

Sherlock gave him a victories smirk but one look back at the person holding the gun and he shook his head, "That's not Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, and when Mrs. Mary Watson turned her aim to him, he felt his jaw go slack and his brain shut down. This wasn't right, this wasn't what was supposed to happen. Suddenly, all those deductions that had got all scrambled since the first time he'd ever met her, all those words getting tossed at him all at once, they all vanished, leaving one fact plainly obvious to him: Mary Watson was a _liar_.

"Is John with you?" she asked, frighteningly calm.

"He's, um..." Sherlock couldn't find any words. He observed, he expected everything that was supposed to happen to him. But this was not expected, he was so unprepared. He couldn't function.

"Is John here?" Mary repeated.

"He's downstairs." He finally got out. Mary nodded in response, but said nothing.

"So," Magnussen started, choosing his words carefully, "What do you do now? Kill us both?"

"Mary," Sherlock started, taking on a calm, smooth tone and keeping painstakingly still, "Whatever he's got on you, let me help."

"Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step, I swear I will kill you." Mary warned, "And I don't want to have to do that to Lottie."

Sherlock's heart thumped, "What does Lottie have to do with this?"

"Don't think I don't know about your plan. Lottie didn't leave you, she knows exactly what's going on. She knew from the beginning. You were just getting her out of danger. Sherlock, I watched her slip right through everyone's fingers, grieving your death, wishing you were back. I don't want to have to do that to her again, and this time, you won't be coming back."

"Then that's precisely why, Mrs. Watson, you won't."

Sherlock took one, very confident step towards his best friend's wife. He knew she wouldn't do this, not to John, not to Lottie or Mrs. Hudson. But then, he felt it. He felt it before he really heard it, the sound lagging compared to the speed of the bullet. He looked down at his chest and blood was staining a small hole in his shirt. He looked back to Mary, still holding the gun aimed at his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly I am."

He muttered her name, then all he could see was pieces of his mind palace. There was a security alarm blaring and he was running down the steps, then Molly's voice…

" _It's not like it is in the movies." She said, walking around him, "There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards."_

_She passed in front of him and they were in a morgue, everything a shade of blinding white. Molly leaned in one of the prep tables in the middle of the room, "The impact isn't spread over a wide area, it's tightly focused so there's little or no energy transfer. You stay still and the bullet pushes through." She pulled back the sheet that was covering him, his skin ghostly pale with a small hole in his chest._

" _You're almost certainly going to die," she said, "So we need to focus."_

She slapped his face and he gasped awake, a high-pitched ringing settling in his ears and he was brought back to the scene of his shooting where Molly was now standing in front of him, _"I said focus!"_

_One more slap and he was back in the morgue, looking at his own corpse, Molly on the other side of the table, "It's all well and clever having a mind palace but you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So come on, what's going to kill you?"_

_His mind palace alarm was blaring in his ear and he was starting to waver on his feet, but Molly was right, he needed to focus. He looked down at his body, "Blood loss."_

" _Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now, forwards or backwards. We need to decide which way you're going to fall."_

_His heartbeat was getting louder when Anderson's voice found its way into his mind palace, "One hole or two?"_

" _Sorry?" Sherlock breathed._

" _Is the bullet still inside you or is there an exit wound?" Molly explained, "It will depend on the gun."_

_Sherlock started running through his list of known firearms, having a hard time picking which gun put this bullet in him._

" _Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock, it doesn't matter about the gun, don't be stupid. You always were so stupid."_

_Sherlock looked to his right and his surroundings morphed into his brother's office, or at least the version he'd built in his mind palace. Mycroft leaned on the desk, looking at his brother the way he always did, like a small child, and that's how Sherlock always felt, like a small child._

" _Such a disappointment." Mycroft cooed._

" _I'm not stupid." Sherlock argued, his voice sounding much like it did when he was a boy._

_The elder brother stood and rounded to the front of the desk, using it to support his weight and look down on his little brother, "You're a very stupid little boy. Mummy and Daddy are very cross, because it doesn't' matter about the gun."_

" _Why not?"_

" _You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"_

" _I've not been murdered yet."_

" _Balance of probability, little brother."_

_Sherlock turned his back, looking at his adult self in the reflection behind him._

" _If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?" Mycroft questioned, now standing next to him._

" _The mirror shattering." Sherlock replied._

" _You didn't, therefore…"_

" _The bullet's still inside me."_

He stepped back into place, where Mary had shot him in Magnussen's office, Mycroft, Molly, and Anderson circling him.

" _So we need to take him down backwards."_ Anderson said.

" _I agree. Sherlock, you need to fall on your back."_ Molly ordered.

" _Right now the bullet is the cork in a bottle."_

" _The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow."_

" _But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it."_

" _Plus, on your back, gravity is working for us."_

Sherlock suddenly felt cold, his mind palace turning shades of blue. He heard Molly take a deep breath, _"Fall now."_

Sherlock felt himself falling, forcing his weight backwards, until he hit the ground, sending himself back into his mind palace.

_Sherlock stumbled backwards, slamming into a wall of compartments meant for dead bodies at the morgue, clawing at his head as the ringing got louder._

" _What is that? What's happening?" he called out. Next to him, one of the draws slid out, his body lying cold and dead before him, sending him into a panic._

" _You're going into shock." Molly explained, "It's the next thing that's going to kill you."_

" _What do I do?"_

" _Don't go into shock, obviously." Mycroft replaced Molly in this blink of an eye, sarcasm rolling off of his tongue, "Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down."_

_As soon as the words left his brother's mouth, Sherlock's mind palace started to bleed red. He narrowed his eyes at his brother and Mycroft stuck his nose up, "Find it."_

_Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and went running down the stairs of the palace, his brother's words echoing off of the walls in his head as the red dripped down the walls around him._

" _The east wind is coming, Sherlock. It's coming to get you."_

_The first level, Sherlock started down the halls, opening the first door that he could, hoping that she would be there, but he let out a painful scream when he found Mary on the other side of the door, dressed in her wedding gown and pointing a gun at him. She pulled the trigger and he went staggering back._

" _Focus, Sherly. You can do this." Her voice. She was there, he just had to find her. He tried another door and found his old dog, lying on the cold tile of his palace. It wasn't who he was looking for but he would buy him some time._

" _Hello, Redbeard." Sherlock cooed, calling out for the dog to come closer. The dog obliged, wagging his tail at the smile that grew on Sherlock's face, praising him for obeying his command. He scratched the dog behind the ears, his favorite, and let him lick his face, "Hello, Redbeard. They're putting me down, too, now. It's not fun, is it?"_

_Sherlock felt weak, his body commanding him to lie down as pain shot through his body, making his muscles convulse. He called out till his vocal chords were sore and no sound escaped, but there was nothing he could do. He heard Molly's voice somewhere down the hall._

" _Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain. There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding. You have to control the pain."_

_He didn't think he could handle this, he just couldn't. So much pain. He tried to sit up, his eyes searching for her but his vision started to blur. He caught a glimpse of her red hair as she turned a corner and everything was bleeding red, chasing after him as he stumbled down the stairs, several floors below and into the basement of his mind palace. He slipped into a padded white room, screaming out in pain. This room, too, would be bathed in red before long. But he didn't have time to find her. He had to get some sense of control. He slammed the door shut behind him, begging his mind and his body to get in control and sliding to the floor as his body continued to seize. The man he kept in that room turned to him with a sinister, pitying look. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, taking in breaths through his gritted teeth to get through the pain._

" _You." He said, "You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?"_

" _You always feel it, Sherlock." The man's voice was low, Sherlock was barely able to hear him. It was getting harder to breath, heavy in his chest, grinding his teeth and looking at the man with tired and confused eyes. Moriarty looked back at him and charged him, stopping just before he could reach him, having been wrapped in a strait jacket and chains, but the bolt sent Sherlock into another fit of seizers as Moriarty laughed in his face._

" _But you don't have to fear it!"_

_The pain brought Sherlock to his knees, staring up at the ceiling, watching the red bleed from the cracks in the white padding, concentrating on the words that Moriarty spat at him._

" _Pain…Heartbreak…Loss…Death…It's all good."_

" _Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?" another voice, one he hadn't heard yet caught his attention. A girl, so familiar, so beautiful, but it was fading. So far away. All he could hear was Moriarty singing, the blue hues he saw were getting darker, turning the red dark, almost black. Like blood oozing down the walls._

" _It's raining…its pouring…Sherlock is boring…It's raining…I'm crying…Sherlock is dying…"_

" _Sherlock, we're losing you. Sherlock!" her voice, barely a whisper now. He was fading. He couldn't fight anymore. There was so much pain, and he was so tired. He just wanted to sleep._

_Moriarty was hanging over him, asking over and over why he wouldn't just die already? He wanted to. So bad, just to sleep. Just close his eyes. He could see the walls crumbling, the padding, the bricks, they were falling all around him, replaced by darkness. Even Moriarty slid down to the floor, his voice fading. He was dying, too, but his stubbornness prevailed as he continued to speak. Sherlock didn't try to stop him anymore. He was so tired._

" _You're going to love being dead, Sherlock." He said, "No one ever bothers you. Mrs. Hudson will cry. And Mummy and Daddy will cry. And the women will cry and John will cry buckets and buckets. It's him that I worry about the most. That wife. And Lottie. Your precious Little Lottie. Why, she'll cry and scream and ache when you die. Her and John, you're letting them down, Sherlock. John Watson. Charlotte Blakely. They are definitely in danger."_

_That was it. Her. He had to find her. His eyes shot open and he flung his body up, ignoring the pain. Moriarty watched with wide eyes as Sherlock got to his feet, lightning flashed with every bold step, he used the wall to keep him steady. He took one last look at Moriarty and swung the door open, pushing as fast as he could back down the halls of his mind palace, running far away from the storm. The floors were flooded red and it was dark, the lights above flickering every few seconds. He called out in pain, stumbling towards the stairs as the lightning crashed when he hit the ground, the only source of solid light coming from above. With every punch he felt his heart beat again where he hadn't even realized that it'd stopped. He couldn't catch his breath, but he pushed up the stairs, letting her voice and the light guide him._

" _Sherlock!" She was calling out to him, panicked and scared. He couldn't leave her alone. He forced himself up the steps, closer to her voice. The further up he got, the louder her voice was. She was urging him, just like he was urging for his heart to beat with every grasp of the railings, the storm growing distant behind him. Every time he thought he saw her hand, waiting for him to take it, it was just out of reach. Until he saw it. The light, the light that would bring him back to her. He had to make it, he would make it. There was no option._

Sherlock opened his eyes, a bright light hanging over him. He tried to say her name, he wanted her here, needed her here, but something was keeping him from speaking, and then he blacked out, sleep finally overcoming him to the sound of the steady beep of his heartbeat.


	12. Chapter 12

" _You don't tell him."_

_Sherlock peeked his eyes open at the new voice. He was lying in his own bed back at home. He could here Lottie piddling in the kitchen, probably fixing tea, but it wasn't her who was speaking to him._

" _Sherlock." They said. A woman. One he recognized, but he couldn't place it, "You don't tell John."_

_He tried to sit up with no avail, but then she was right in his face, her blue eyes, and he could faintly see blonde hair, "Look at me. And tell me you're not going to tell him."_

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked around. Janine was there, going through the front page newspapers of him and her that had been released since she'd found out their whole relationship had been a lie. She'd sold their story to practically every paper in the United Kingdom. A lot of them had pictures of Lottie with big question marks next to them.

"I'm buying a cottage." She announced. Sherlock took a deep breath and looked around. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his mind palace anymore.

"I made a lot of money out of you, Mister." Janine said, "Nothing hits the spot like revenge with profits."

"You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?" Sherlock's first question.

"God no. One of his rivals." She chuckled, "He was spittin'."

"Hmm." His only response. Janine looked him up and down and shook her head, "Sherlock Holmes, you are a backstabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard."

Sherlock chuckled, holding down the button to raise up his hospital bed, "You, as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry, tabloid whore."

"So we're good, then?"

"Yeah, of course." He gave a weak smile, "Where's the cottage?"

"Sussex Downs."

"Oh, nice."

"It's gorgeous. There's beehives but I'm getting rid of those."

 _Pain._ One moment he was fine, the next that's all he felt was pain, burning through him. He started gasping for air and Janine made a face, "Oh, it hurts, does it? Might want to restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps."

"How much more revenge are you going to need?"

"Just the occasional top-up. Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you."

"Not good for working."

"You won't be working for a while, Sherl." She paused, "You lied to me. You lied and lied."

"I exploited the fact of our connection."

"When?" she scoffed, shaking her head, "Just once would have been nice."

"Oh…I was waiting till we got married."

"That was never gonna happen."

There was a moment when neither of them spoke Janine chuckled, "You still love her."

"I'm sorry?"

"You lied. You told me that you didn't love her anymore. I should've seen it before, but you do. You still love her."

Sherlock averted his eyes and Janine shook her head, getting to her feet, "I've got to go. I'm not supposed to keep you talking. And also, I have an interview with _The One Show_ and I haven't made it up yet."

Sherlock scoffed and Janine started for the door, but stopped just before reaching for the handle, "Just one thing. You should've lied to me. I know what kind of man you are. We could've been friends." She sighed, "I'll give your love to John and Mary."

She stepped out of the room and let the door close behind her. Sherlock took a deep breath, muttering to himself, "I'm sure someone would like to argue that with you."

Taking a deep breath, he took down his morphine and closed his eyes, retreating back to his mind palace. She would be here any minute and he needed to have somewhat of a plan before she got here.

" _You don't tell him. You don't tell John."_

_He found himself standing in one of the halls of his palace, Mary stood in front of him, calm, with her hands folded together in front of her._

" _So," he started, circling her, watching all of the lies float around her frame, "You're Mary Watson. Who are you?"_

_He gave her one last look before pacing away from her, repeating her name under his breath until it hit him, hit him like a bullet in the chest. He knew exactly who Mary Morstan was._

* * *

Later that evening Lestrade came around to have a word with Sherlock. Most everyone had gone home, save for John who was leading the inspector up to Sherlock's room.

"I don't know how much sense you'll get out of him." John was saying, "He's drugged up, so he's pretty much babbling."

Lestrade nodded, messing about on his phone and John looked over at him, "Oh, well, they won't let you use that in here, you know."

"No, I'm not going to use the phone, I just want to take a video."

John chuckled and opened the door to Sherlock's hospital room, confused at first when he wasn't in his bed. He peeked around the rest of the room thinking maybe he'd gotten up to walk around a bit until they saw the window open and it didn't take them long to figure out that Sherlock had escaped. They exchanged glances and went running out of the room, getting everyone on the phone that they knew out looking for him. They spent hours looking in all the usual places around London, all of them dead-ends. John and Lestrade took up a headquarters back at Baker Street and try and brainstorm, to figure out where he'd gone but it was well into the night and there was still no sign of him.

"He knew who shot him." John mused out loud, pacing the living room. He gestured to his chest, "The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was. So why not tell us?"

"Because he's tracking them down himself." Lestrade replied.

"Or protecting them."

"Protecting the shooter, why?"

"Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He's Sherlock, who would be bother protecting?" John took a seat in his old chair, something he'd just now realized that Sherlock had put back in its place.

"What about Lottie?" Mrs. Hudson spoke up.

"She's not really in the picture…" even as John spoke, his words started to put the puzzle together.

"Call me if you hear anything, don't hold out on me, John." Lestrade said, "Call me, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, right."

Lestrade bid them a goodnight and started down the stairs, leaving John and Mrs. Hudson to ponder what had happened to their friend. Mrs. Hudson took one look at John and adopted a look of pity immediately, "John, need a cuppa?"

"Mrs. Hudson, why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?"

"Oh, he's just put your chair back again, hasn't he? That's nice. Looks much better." She brought the kettle over to pour him some tea but his mind was somewhere else. He was staring at the bottle of perfume sitting on the side table, Claire-de-la-Lune. In his mind he was putting the final pieces of the puzzle together when his phone sounded. He looked up and Mrs. Hudson walked across the room to grab it, looking at the caller ID with big eyes and John was sure he knew exactly who it was, but he wasn't quite right.

"It's Lottie, John. It's Lottie. Lottie's calling you."

* * *

Mary walked down the streets of London, both trying to get home and looking for Sherlock at the same time. She'd been out for hours and frankly she was exhausted, after spending hours at the hospital with John to help Sherlock with his recovery, and now searching for him after his escape from the hospital. This man was definitely a handful. She couldn't imagine how Lottie handled it all that time.

"Spare any change, ma'am?" a beggar on the corner of the sidewalk brought her out of her thoughts and she shook her head, not even bothering to stop walking. She was not in the mood to deal with this right now, "No."

"Oh, come on, love, don't be like all the rest."

Mary paused in her steps, turning back to throw a few spare coins in his bucket, but before she could pull away he grabbed hold of her wrist and lifted his head so she could see his face under his hood.

"Rule one of looking for Sherlock Holmes," Billy Wiggins told her, "He finds you."

He places a phone and Bluetooth in her hand and got to his feet. She looked down at the device with raised eyebrows, "You're working for Sherlock now."

"Keeps me off the streets, innit?"

"Well, no."

The phone rang and Mary placed the Bluetooth in her ear to answer it while Billy slinked off into the shadows, thinking that he was being stealthy but really Mary was just ignoring him.

"Where are you?" she asked once she'd picked up the call. She continued down the sidewalk alongside some really nice houses not far from her own flat.

" _Can't you see me?"_ Sherlock spoke into her earpiece.

"What am I looking for?"

" _The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices, people live here for years and never see it but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute. The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."_

Mary continued down the sidewalk, looking around at the houses, just like he instructed, "How did you know I'd come here?"

" _Well, I knew you'd talk to the people no one else would bother with."_

She scoffed, "I thought I was being clever."

" _You're always clever, Mary, I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find."_

She walked a little further down the path and when she finally realized what Sherlock wanted her to see, she made an audible sound of clarity so that he would know she understood.

" _30 seconds."_

"What am I looking at?"

" _No door knobs, no letterbox, painted windows. 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens. The empty houses."_ It sounded like he was in pain and trying to work through it, but he continued without complaint and Mary didn't say a word to stop him, _"They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground. Vents for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains, it's just a façade. Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade."_

Mary was admiring the details in the fake houses. So much work had gone into making them look real, identical to the real ones next door. Then suddenly, a photo of her face was projected on them just before her eyes. She jumped, looking around for the source with no luck. Sherlock continued to speak into her ear, _"Sorry, I never could resist a touch of drama. Do come in. It's a little cramped."_

"Do you own this place?" she started for one of the doors that had a bit of light shining through the cracks and Sherlock hummed in response.

" _I won it in a card game with the Clarence House cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys but fortunately, I had a straight flush. Quite a gambler, that woman."_

Mary stepped inside the fake house, finding herself in a narrow hallway with very dim lights. She could barely see what was in front of her but there was a figure that looked a lot like everyone's favorite detective at the end of the hall. She took a deep breath, "What do you want, Sherlock?"

" _Mary Morstan was stillborn in October, 1972_." He continued to speak to her through the headset, unmoving from his spot at the end of the hall and Mary stood completely still, listening to him throw her lies she'd worked so hard to keep quiet back in her face, _"Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery, where five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter, her identity. That why you don't have friends from before that date."_

Mary slowly started down the hall, remembering when Sherlock was helping her with wedding planning, commenting on how her half of the church was 'a bit thin'. She'd told him that it was because she was an orphan and she didn't have many friends. She could already tell she was going to regret anything she'd ever told this man.

" _It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who could recognize a skip code on sight."_

Mary nodded her head, thinking about the night that John had been kidnapped and Lottie thrown into that blazing fire. She was almost to the end of the hall now.

" _And extraordinarily retentive memories."_

"You were very slow." Mary was having enough of walking down memory lane, encouraging him to get on with his point.

" _How good a shot are you?"_

Mary pulled a gun from her trousers, cocking it so that it was ready to fire on her command, "How badly do you want to find out?"

" _If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it, even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that."_

Mary nodded in agreement.

" _I want to know how good you are."_ Sherlock urged, _"Go on, show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now."_

Mary sighed, pulling a coin from her pocket and flipping it into the air with her thumb. One quick shot above her head and her attention was back on Sherlock, waiting for his response. To her surprise, she heard two sets of footsteps behind her, then Sherlock's voice not in the headset, but it didn't come from the figure at the end of the hall.

"May I see?"

Mary eyed the figure closer before turning away from it, scoffing, "A dummy?"

Sherlock stood behind her, with none other than Miss Lottie Blakely at his side. He seemed to be using her as a crutch, too weak to even support his own body weight. Mary eyed the girl who'd been MIA for over a month now, noticing the tear stains and the dark circles under her eyes, and the daggers she was staring her down with, this redhead was not happy.

"Well," Mary took the earpiece out, "I suppose that was a fairly obvious trick."

She kicked the coin towards them and Sherlock stopped it with his foot. He started to bend down for it, ignoring Lottie's concerned whispers, he picked it up and held it in the light, "And yet, over a distance of six feet you failed to make a kill shot. Enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me. That wasn't a miss. That was surgery."

Mary watched him for a moment, glancing over at Lottie, who at one time looked at her with such love and admiration, now all she saw was hate and anger, and she averted her eyes to the floor.

"I'll take the case." Sherlock said.

"What case?"

"Yours." Sherlock's voice turned cold, "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever and Sherlock, I will never let that happen."

Sherlock started to turn away, Lottie all but attached to his side, afraid he might collapse at any moment and Mary stopped them, begging them to understand, looking into the eyes of anger and pity.

"There is nothing in this world I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry." Sherlock spoke, halfheartedly, "Not that obvious a trick."

He flipped the light switch and Lottie watched the look of horror on Mary's face in realizing what had just occurred. Mary was smart, as soon as those lights came on she knew what they had done. She turned and found John at the end of the hall, a burning hate apparent on his face as he stood, fixing his hair and flipping his coat collar back down before taking heated steps towards her.

"Now, talk and sort it out and do it quickly." Sherlock instructed.

"Sherlock." Lottie spoke in low tones, her voice sounding urgent. He was getting weaker and weaker by the second and for a moment, he let his eyes fall closed, allowing Lottie to cradle him a moment and taking deep breaths before blinking and standing up tall, "Baker Street. Now."

* * *

"John!" Mrs. Hudson came puttying into the living room when John came storming in, tossing his jacket aside and taking deep breaths through his nose to try and keep calm. Mary followed just behind him, with Lottie helping Sherlock up the stairs with the patience that she was known for. Sherlock didn't even try to fight for his independence, both exhausted from the pain and simply happy that Lottie was with him again. Her touch and her voice both comforting to him.

"Mary." Mrs. Hudson greeted, only to be returned with a nervous nod. She gasped when Lottie brought Sherlock in, "Oh, Sherlock. Oh, good gracious, you look terrible."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen, I've run out." He ordered.

"I don't have any morphine."

"Then what exactly is the point of you? Gah!" he put a hand on his chest, just over the bullet wound, leaning in towards Lottie, blindly searching for her hand and intertwining their fingers when he found it.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Hudson gasped.

"Bloody good question." John muttered.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do." Sherlock squeezed Lottie's hand. She looked up at him with so much emotion and so much care and concern, even though she was completely drained of it. She'd missed him so much, and when she'd heard about him getting shot she thought someone had ripped her heart out, she couldn't get home fast enough and now she was running on fumes her energy levels were so low. Sherlock could see it, but she would never admit that, not to him, not now. He felt the swell of pride in his chest just next to the excruciating pain form the bullet that ripped through his muscles. He wouldn't last much longer, and he could see that Lottie had already pulled her phone out, waiting on his cue as John spoke through his red-hot anger.

"No, I have a better question. Is everyone I have ever met a psychopath?" he said.

Sherlock thought only a moment, "Yes. Good that we've settled that. Now…"

"Shut up!"

Lottie flinched, she'd never heard John scream so loud. Sherlock squeezed her hand again, this time more for her sake than his.

"And stay shut up." John continued, "Because this is not funny. Not this time."

"I didn't say it was funny." Sherlock noted, his voice low, serious. John eyed him a moment, glancing between his two best friends. He would have worlds with the two of them later, but there was a more pressing matter at hand in that moment.

"You." He turned back to his wife, "What have I ever done? Hmm? My whole life, to deserve you?"

"Everything."

"Sherlock, I told you, shut up."

"John, please, listen to Sherlock. He's right." Lottie said. She was angry, so angry with John and Mary, but he needed to listen. He needed to understand what was happening here.

"Charlotte, please don't start this."

"No, she's right. I mean it." Sherlock reiterated, "Seriously. Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."

"You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high." His voice faltered and Lottie looked up at him, all of her systems on high alert waiting for his sign, but he continued, "That's me, by the way. Hello. Your other best friend has developed such a case of anxiety that could compare to that of a mental patient, that would be your favorite ginger here, and even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing." Mrs. Hudson defended.

"And exotic dancing."

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTubing,"

"Mrs. Hudson, now is not the time." Lottie warned.

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle." Sherlock took charge of the conversation again, drawing everyone's attention to his shaking breath, the dark circles under his eyes and his weak posture. Lottie seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright in that moment, "You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you fall in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like that." John's voice broke, and it was all he could do to speak in a low whisper just to get the words out. Lottie's heart broke for him, she knew this was hard, this was hard for all of them, but John especially. He was so happy, he had a wife, his two best friends back, a baby on the way and job, and now it was ruined. Lottie bit her lip, continuing to hear him out, "Why is she like that?"

Sherlock hesitated, waiting for the right words to come to him, but he couldn't seem to find them. The answer was very simple, simple and harsh, but there was no beating around it, "Because you chose her."

"Why is everything always…my fault!" he wandered over to kick Sherlock's chair out of anger and Lottie flinched again, squeezing Sherlock's hand as Mrs. Hudson ran out of the room, insisting up on the neighbors not finding out about this conversation.

"John, listen. Be calm and answer me. What is she?" Sherlock started.

"My lying wife?" John answered.

"No, what is she?"

"And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No, not in this flat, not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?"

John took a moment, taking a deep breath through his nose, "Okay. Your way. Always your way." He cleared his throat, grabbing the chair from the desk usually reserved for clients and placing it at the edge of the rug, commanding Mary to sit.

"Why?" she asked. She'd been standing in the far corner of the room, observing in silence. She knew she'd fucked up, she knew this was her fault. She had to face her consequences and she knew this was going to be hard but she had no choice. This was how it had to be, how it had to be handled. She took a deep breath, preparing for the worst from the man that she loved.

"Because that's where they sit." He was speaking low, through gritted teeth now, "The people who come in here with their stories. The clients. That's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk and this is where we sit and listen. Then we decide if we want you or not."

John took a seat in his chair and Sherlock took a deep breath, starting for his own chair with Lottie there for support. She sat Sherlock down very gently and took a seat on the arm of his chair, waiting for Mary to sit. The blonde hesitated, watching Lottie in the way that she cared for Sherlock, but also in the way that she was eyeing her. There was no more trust, no more patience, their relationship was done. Lottie was angry. Angry for what she was doing to John mentally and psychologically, angry for shooting Sherlock, the love of her life; Mary was just not in a good place with Lottie right then. But she finally took her seat, very quiet at first, but then she pulled a flash drive from her purse and slid it on to the table next to John's chair. Four letters written in black sharpie on the side.

"A-G-R-A." Sherlock said, "What's that?"

She hesitated, looking between the three of them before landing her eyes on John, "Uh, my initials. Everything about who I was is on there. If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?" He questioned.

"Because you won't love me when you've finished. And I don't want to see that happen."

John sighed, looking to both Sherlock and Lottie, both of them watching for his next move. Lottie had a phone in her hand, like she was about to make a call, or she already had. She was holding Sherlock's hand and it looked like he was squeezing her to death. This was all up to John now, there was nothing they could do. They'd done all they could, really. He took the flash drive and shoved it into his pocket without a word and Mary turned to Sherlock.

"How much do you know already?"

"By your skill set, you are or were an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something. You've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him." He hiccupped his last few words and Lottie held his hand in both of hers. He was going white-knuckled from gripping her so hard but she didn't complain one bit. She whispered his name, tears starting to spill over and she no longer cared if that showed her weakness. She was scared for him, and she wished he wouldn't do this, but she knew he had to.

"Oh, you can talk." Mary dared, taking on a joking tone. Not a smart move on her part she realized a little too late when Lottie glared over at her. The redhead wanted to slap her for speaking like that but when the corners of Sherlock's mouth lifted she held her tongue.

"Oh, look at you two. You should have got married." John said.

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life." Mary stated.

"So you were just going to kill him?"

"People like Magnussen should be killed. That's why there are people like me."

"Perfect! So that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"

"You did see that. And you married me. Because he's right. Sherlock is right, John. It's what you like."

"So, Mary…" Sherlock started. His breathing was getting heavy, wheezy almost, harder for him to speak, "Any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want…extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?" she furrowed her brows.

"Because you saved my life."

John shook his head, sitting up in his chair, "Sorry, sorry, what?"

"When I happened on you and Magnussen…you had a problem." Sherlock explained, "More specifically, you had a witness…This solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave…However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely calculated shot to incapacitate me…in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my finds. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building your own husband would become a suspect so…you calculated…that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police, as is his MO. And then you left the way you came. Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John said.

"She phoned the ambulance."

"I phoned the ambulance."

"She phoned first. You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is…"

As if on cue, a paramedic came running into the room, "Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"Eight minutes." Sherlock looked at his watch, "Did you bring any morphine? I requested when Lottie phoned."

"We were told there was a shooting." The man looked around confused and Lottie stood to explain.

"There was, last week." She said, her fingers on Sherlock's wrist. She'd been keeping his pulse the whole time, "We think he's bleeding internally. His pulse is very erratic. You may need to restart his heart."

She tried to get him to stand but as soon as he was on his feet he was gripping Lottie's arms, unable to stand.

"Sherlock!" Lottie held him up as best she could, John on his other side.

"John," Sherlock gasped, "Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

"She shot you." John retorted.

"Uh, mixed messages, I grant you. That is a-GAH!" his heart was failing.

"Sherlock, come one, we have to take you." Lottie helped him down onto the stretcher as he called out in pain. She was holding his hand as they placed an oxygen mask on him. John and Mary standing over them not sure what to do. Lottie was crying, quietly, trying to be strong, telling Sherlock that everything was going to be okay. John reached down to put a hand on her shoulder but she pulled away.

"Don't touch me." She growled.

John was completely taken aback. Never in the time that they'd known each other did she ever recoil from his comfort. In fact, she mostly welcomed it. But this was different, this was serious. She didn't even like this plan in the first place, and now she might lose him again, for the third time. She would not, could not do it again. They carried Sherlock out on a stretcher and Lottie followed them not even a glance backward at the Watsons that stood unsure in that Baker Street living room She climbed into the ambulance with Sherlock and the paramedics, holding onto his hand the whole time, begging him to stay with her. He was conscious for most of the ride, in a sort of daze until they got to the hospital where they took him away from her. His fingers lingered in her grip until they were just too far out of reach and she stood in the lobby of the hospital holding herself and trying to take deep breaths to keep calm. She felt an anxiety attack coming on and immediately regretted pushing John away, no matter how angry she was with him. She looked around the room that was oddly empty, only a handful of people sitting waiting to hear news about their loved ones and Lottie finally decided to take a seat. She was getting dizzy and she pulled her knees to her chest once she sat down, something Sherlock had told her not to do countless times but her muscles were tense and she needed something to hold. She heard someone ask for help, noticing her attack and she immediately wanted to crawl in a hole. She wished John was there, and Sherlock hadn't been shot and that Mary had never came into the picture, and that Moriarty had never made Sherlock jump off that roof. There were so many people she wanted to blame. Two nurses came up and started speaking to here but they sounded far away. Apparently she was hyperventilating. About that time someone came up and pushed them out of the way and a very familiar voice started speaking.

"Lottie, come on now, you've got to breath." John said, "Don't pass out on me."

"John, I can't lose him. I can't do it again." She managed through her sobs. John shushed her, taking a seat on the couch next to her, assuring the nurses that he had it covered as he pushed her knees back down away from her chest. Once he got her breathing normally, promising that everything was going to be alright, he pulled her in close and she gripped the front of his shirt. He leaned his head back with a heavy sigh, kissing the top of her head, and they sat like that until one of the doctors came out announcing Sherlock's name. Lottie popped up and the doctor came over to address them, letting them know that he was stable and they wanted to keep him for a few days to monitor his condition. Both John and Lottie went back to see him, but they had put him to sleep with some heavy drugs so Lottie pulled a chair up to his bed with every intention of staying with him until he woke up.

"I'm sorry, Lottie." John finally said. Lottie didn't say anything for a few moments, contemplating her words. She was still upset with him, but she knew deep down that this wasn't his fault. She sighed, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hugged her middle, burying his face in the crook of her neck while she stroked the back of his head. She had no idea what she would do without him. They pulled away and she gave him a weak smile.

"What're you gonna do?" she asked.

He shook his head, "I dunno. I've got a lot to think about."

She smiled and kissed his cheek, gesturing to the door, "Go. Your room is still set up the way you left it."

John furrowed his eyebrows, "Are you sure you're gonna be okay."

She looked back at the sleeping Sherlock and she nodded, "Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, for being there."

He smiled back at her and with one more kiss on the cheek and a bone crushing hug he left her there alone with Sherlock. She watched him go for a moment before returning to her seat next to the hospital bed. She picked up Sherlock's hand studying the curve of his knuckles and the rough calluses from playing violin. She kissed the back of his hand, a quick peck before standing to kiss his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin; when she pulled away she moved some of his curls off of his forehead and sat back down, lying her head down in the crook of her arm on the mattress, her free hand never letting go of his and she finally dozed off to the sound of his steady heart monitor, knowing that he was still here, she didn't lose him. He stayed, just like he promised.

* * *

Sherlock woke up the next morning and took in his new hospital room. He was hooked up to all kinds of wires and needles, the tiny bit of extra weight at the side of his bed caught his attention, finding a sleeping Lottie still holding his hand. He couldn't hide the smile on his face or the joy that he felt in her presence. He gently lifted his hand from her loose grip and grazed her cheeks with his fingers. Her peaceful features interrupted with the flutter of her eyes at his touch and he smiled down at her.

"Good morning." He whispered. It took her only a moment to discern where she was and what was happening and she sprang from her seat to wrap her arms around his neck. He felt only a little pain, the work of the morphine doing its job, but even if he had the pain of a thousand swords ripping in his flesh he would still hold her frame as close as he did, smelling the Burberry perfume she always wore that lingered on her clothes. She pulled back with happy tears in her eyes, trying to wipe them away, knowing how much he hated when she cried. He saw now point in it, never understood why girls cried with every emotion. Granted he _understood_ the chemical reason, but mentally it made no sense. But today, he didn't care. She was happy, happy that he was alive, happy that they were together again, and he knew exactly how she felt. He stopped her from wiping her tears, moving her hand away so that he could do it himself. She laughed in spite of herself and leaned down to kiss his lips, letting all of the hurt and fear and pain she'd felt while she was away pour into the movement of her lips and he was happy to reply, holding her face in his hands to deepen this kiss, squeezing his eyes shut, never wanting it to end. When they parted she leaned her forehead on his, with bright, tired eyes looking into his. His hands still lingered on her cheeks and she gripped his hands, leaning into his touch.

"Is my coat here?" he questioned.

She furrowed her eyebrows, "Yeah, why?"

"Go look in the inside pocket." He instructed. She gave him a look but did as he told, searching the pockets until she pulled out a small red box. She stared at it in disbelief, holding it gingerly in her fingers, looking back at Sherlock with her jaw dropped open. He smiled, genuinely, truly smiled, something usually only reserved for her to see, something she truly loved to see. She brought it back to him and he put his fingers on it too, both of them holding it as he spoke.

"I wanted to do this properly." He said. She laughed, more tears streaming down her face.

"You kind of missed that train when you asked me by text, Sherly." She smiled. He chuckled in reply.

"I know, but,"

She put her finger to his lips, stopping him. She placed the box in his palm and closed his fingers around it, "Then wait. I want to see you down on one knee. But that just means you have to get better first."

They smiled and she kissed his lips again, just as the nurse came in to check on him. Lottie stayed in the hospital with him until his release three days later. John came in a few times to see him, but she hadn't heard a word from Mary since the night all of her secrets were ousted. When Sherlock was finally released, she made him promise her that she wouldn't let him out of her sight. After this last deal she made with him, making her fly out to France to stay out of harm's way, there was no way she was doing anything like that again. He agreed. He wasn't very fond of it, but this way he could protect her, and it made her happy. So when Sherlock made an appointment with Magnussen, Lottie sat with them. The two of them waited for Magnussen in the café by their flat after having dragged the machinery with his fluid down the steps and getting him set up at the back table. She argued with him that morning that he wasn't technically released just yet, but he wasn't taking no for an answer so for the second time she helped him escape from the hospital and back to their home. He bought them a plate of pasta which they shared, talking of nothing and everything until their guest showed up. Sherlock was still in a hospital gown and he was still a little pale but he was better than he was a few days ago and Lottie was keeping an eye on him.

"Shouldn't you be in hospital?" Magnussen said.

"I am in hospital." Sherlock replied, "This is the canteen."

"Is it?"

"In my opinion, yes. Have a seat."

"Thank you." He took his seat and Lottie eyed him warily. He was very intimidating to her and she actually felt herself physically lean away from him. Sherlock watched her closely, taking her hand under the table when she started to fidget. He held it there, absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb though never taking his eyes off of Magnussen.

"I've been thinking about you." He told him.

"I've been thinking about you." Magnussen replied, the hint of a smirk apparent in his features. Lottie was not a fan, to say the least.

"Really?" Sherlock reached over with his free hand to take down his morphine. High levels weren't' good for working, "I want to see Appledore. Where you keep all the secrets, all the files, everything you've got on everyone. I want you to invite me"

"What makes you think I'd be so careless?"

"Oh, I think you're a lot more careless than you let on."

"Am I?"

The two men stared each other down and Sherlock let go of Lottie's hand, folding his own fingers together the way he did when he was on to something, "It's the dead-eye stare that gives it away. Except its not dead-eyed, is it?" he reached up with both hands and, ever so gently, pulled Magnussen's glasses off of his face, "You're reading."

Lottie watched Sherlock's victorious smirk as he inspected the frames, turning them over in his hands as he spoke, "Portable Appledore. How does it work?

Magnussen said nothing, and Sherlock continued, placing the glasses on his own nose as the assumptions rolled off his tongue, "Built-in flash drive? 4G wireless?"

There was something in Sherlock's eye when he started fiddling with the glasses on his face that told Lottie that he'd made a wrong deduction somewhere down the line. The spark of victory was gone, and his lips thinned in confusion as he pulled them off, "They're just ordinary spectacles."

"Yes, they are." Magnussen finally said. He smiled, watching Sherlock chew on the inside of his cheek, a habit he'd picked up from Lottie, as he wracked his intricate brain for the answers he couldn't seem to find. Magnussen eyed Lottie, "reading" her files with the same knowing smirk. Noting her anxiety and her overwhelming love for Sherlock as her biggest pressure points and filing them away for later. He reached over to the plate of pasta that she was still picking at and she sucked in a breath, moving away from the food. He chuckled at her reaction and Sherlock looked up at him as he spoke, "You underestimate me, Mr. Holmes."

He dipped his fingers in Lottie's water after throwing a piece of pasta in his mouth with his fingers and took his glasses from Sherlock's light hold on them. He was about to stand and leave but Sherlock stopped him, "Impress me, then. Show me Appledore."

"Everything's available for a price. You making me an offer?"

Sherlock smiled, "A Christmas present."

"Then what are you giving me for Christmas, Mr. Holmes?"

"My brother."


	13. Chapter 13

_CHRISTMAS_

"Oh, dear God. It's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now. How can it only be two o'clock? I am in agony."

"Oh, Mycroft, hush and enjoy the day off." Lottie finished washing up her hands and took a seat on the arm of the chair that Sherlock was sat in. It was Christmas day, Sherlock was finally fully recovered, they were out in the country at the brothers' parents' house for the holiday and Lottie couldn't be happier. It was absolutely wonderful. When Mrs. Holmes had called and requested a gathering Lottie had to beg Sherlock to agree and when he finally did all it took was Mommy Holmes' stern voice over the phone to have Mycroft make an appearance. Sherlock looked up at Lottie and smiled, accepting the kiss that she leaned down to give him with pure bliss.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

"Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes. And you've got potatoes on it." The sass coming from Mycroft's mouth was truly disrespectful, but neither Lottie nor Sherlock could help their soft laughter at Mrs. Holmes expression to her eldest son's tone.

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around, if it's so important."

"Why are we doing this? We never do this."

"We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy."

"Am I happy, too? I haven't checked."

"Behave, Mike."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

"Well, Mikey, we are also here because Sherlock has proposed to Miss Charlotte." Mrs. Holmes, ignoring Mycroft's complaint about his nickname, gave Lottie the sweetest of smiles. She held out her hand and Lottie looked down at Sherlock with blush-tinted cheeks before crossing the kitchen to take her future mother-in-law's hand. The woman gave her a kiss on the cheek and Sherlock watched the two of them with a smile, leaning his head on his fingers. This was not like him, this extraordinary show of sentiment towards these two women, but he'd given up trying to figure it out long ago. His mother still got under his skin, always poking and prodding about his business, still not nearly as smart as he even if she was a mathematician, but with Lottie things were different. He blushed, he felt his pulse quicken, and all he could think about was her. Things that he thought would hinder his work actually did the opposite. She helped; she wandered around his mind palace and she knew exactly where everything was whenever he needed it. Granted, if she wasn't physically near him it was a problem, seeing as he worried about her safety too much but that was a rarity. They were notorious for being together at all times, no matter what, with very little room for argument.

"Well, he hasn't asked me properly yet." Lottie said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She was looking back at him with a sheepish smirk and he smiled back, looking down at his newspaper as his mother gave a hearty laugh.

"Oh, I know, dear, but to have one of my sons married." Mrs. Holmes giggled, something Sherlock and Mycroft hadn't seen her do in a long time. Sherlock found a strange since of pride in his mother's acceptance in his choice of future wife. Though Lottie was right, he hadn't properly proposed yet. It was something that Lottie really wanted, so he wanted to make sure it was special. Something, he noted, that really wasn't his style. He'd heard a lot of things about people in love, and he mostly disregarded them, considering them to all be idiots, but now that he was witnessing it first hand, he was starting to both take his own personal notes, and also learn not to fight it. Before, when he first started realizing his feelings for Lottie, he tried so hard to explain the things that he was feeling with science. He wasn't afraid to admit that it took him a long time to understand what it was like to love someone. Now, he both enjoyed it, and used it for his own deductions. When he couldn't deduce a person's actions based on their love for someone, he actually put himself in their shoes, something that was definitely out of his character, but it helped. He made himself think about what he would do if it was Lottie. He was able to solve so many more cases. Though, if he didn't credit some of it to Lottie's help he knew he would get a sassy eye roll and a slap on the arm, though if he was honest he didn't mind. It usually made her laugh and her laugh was one of his favorite sounds of all time.

"Mrs. Holmes." The girls were interrupted by Billy Wiggins handing Mrs. Holmes a glass full of punch. She thanked him, her features contorting into slight confusion as she took the drink. She eyed the man up and down before turning back to Lottie, "Not absolutely sure why he's here."

"I invited him." Sherlock stated.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. Holmes." Billy said, "When he dies, I get all his stuff and his job."

The two women gave him the strangest of looks, but Sherlock shot him down rather quickly, "Nope."

"Oh. Well, I'll help out a bit."

"Closer."

"If he does get murdered or something."

"Okay, Mrs. Holmes, why don't I help you with those potatoes?" Lottie laughed nervously and guided Mrs. Holmes to the other side of the kitchen, away from Billy. She turned to Sherlock with strict eyes and he sighed, turning a page in his newspaper; his daydreaming obviously being cut short and his goofy grin slid right off his features.

"Probably stop talking now, Billy." He said.

"Lovely when you bring your friends round." Mycroft sighed.

"Stop it, you." Mrs. Holmes returned to the conversation, leaving Lottie to start the potatoes. So much for trying to keep her occupied, "Somebody has put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous."

Sherlock and Lottie exchanged looks but neither of them said a word, Sherlock continuing to read his paper and Lottie was growing a mountain of potato skins in front of her. Mrs. Holmes started piddling about, picking up the cup of tea left sitting on the counter, "Ah, this was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute."

She disappeared through the door and Lottie watched Sherlock glance at his watch. She took a deep breath, letting it out slow through her nose, continuing to help with the dinner. Sherlock watched her, much like he always did. They'd been through so much now, he had a constant fear that she wasn't something permanent in his life that no matter what case he was working on, no matter what research he was conducting or experiment he was perfecting, a part of his brain was always worried about her, always keeping an eye on her. That's why when she'd brought up the subject of marriage, he was surprisingly unafraid of the thought. He'd actually wanted it. Mycroft was sat at the table massaging his temples in frustration and Sherlock got to his feet and joined Lottie at the counter, resting his hands on her waist.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

"What am I doing?"

"Your breathing patterns. Their irregular."

She nodded her understanding, "I'm sorry, I'm fine. A little anxious, but I'm fine." She smiled back at him and he returned the favor.

"You don't have to apologize. You know that." He leaned down to kiss her and she giggled into his lips.

"I'm stepping outside." He said when they parted.

"Sherly, you're doing so well!" Lottie complained, but he put a finger to her lips.

"Shh, don't tell Mother." He winked at her and she rolled her eyes, swatting his hand away and continuing with the food. He kissed her check, letting his lips linger next to her ear, "Don't drink the punch."

He stepped away from her and started for the back door just as John came in through the front. He seemed out of breath and Lottie smiled at him, wishing him a happy Christmas and he gave a general reply. He seemed distant, greeting Lottie with a peck on the cheek, "Where's Mary?"

Lottie gestured with her head towards the door that Mrs. Holmes had taken Mary her tea a few moments beforehand, and was now coming back through. She greeted John and he smiled at her, but it was obvious he was on a mission and didn't want anything to slow him down. Mrs. Holmes paid him no mind and he stepped into the room. Mr. Holmes stepped back into the kitchen a few moments later, just as Sherlock was putting on his coat.

"Those two." Mr. Holmes started, "They alright?"

"Well, you know, they've had their ups and downs." Sherlock gave the simplest answer that he could. He really didn't have another option if they were honest, he couldn't tell his father what was really going on. He followed his brother outside and Lottie called for Mr. Holmes to help her reach a mixing bowl in one of the higher up cabinets. She thanked him and he smiled at her.

"It sure is going to be weird." He commented.

"What's that, Mr. Holmes?" she laughed.

"Having a ginger in the family."

"Oh, what is with you two? I'm telling you, Sherly hasn't proposed yet!"

"Yet, is the key word there, my dear."

"Are you two smoking?"

Mr. Holmes and Lottie turned at Mrs. Holmes strict voice at the back door and the faint voices of her sons denying their habits outside. Lottie and Mr. Holmes chuckled as the Misses started making a fuss and bringing herself back inside. Mr. Holmes stepped into the drawing room, staying out of the way of the women cooking in the kitchen and Lottie smiled. It was nice, nice to have somewhat of a normal holiday, even if it wasn't going to last much longer. She checked in on the meat in the oven when Mycroft came back inside from smoking with Sherlock. He returned to his seat, quietly complaining about a headache, one he thought was just having been brought on from dealing with idiots all day, and almost as soon as he started talking about it, he passed out on the table. Lottie peeked out from under her eyelashes, watching his mother start to ask Mycroft what was wrong from her seat next to him, then she too dozed off with her head on the table.

"Oh, I'm feeling a bit woozy." Mr. Holmes mentioned, coming back in from the other room and surprising Lottie. She'd really hoped he would've taken a seat on one of the couches and dozed off their, but she turned back to him at his words and he was already wobbling on his feet. She went wide-eyed and took in a small breath.

"Oh, dear, well, you better sit down then." She tried to guide him to the nearest chair, but the man couldn't even see straight, making the task more difficult. He started mumbling incoherently and finally passed out seconds later, falling backwards into the seat Lottie had been trying to lead him to and she let out a nerve-racking sigh.

"This better be worth it," she mumbled. She dried her hands off on the towel lying on the counter and started for the back door where Sherlock was still outside, "Sherlock! It's almost time."

He jumped up the two steps to the back porch and peered inside, one hand hovering over the small of her back. They could hear John's concerned voice tending to Mary in the back room and Sherlock started for the swinging door, peeking in on the couple and giving a swift, "Don't drink Mary's tea." Before he stepped back into the kitchen, grabbing his scarf and Lottie's coat from the rack just by the door. He helped her into the coat, pulling it all the way up to her shoulders before checking on the members of his family to make sure they were still breathing, holding his hand just under their noses.

"Oh, or the punch." He said as an afterthought that had escaped him after he'd warned Lottie about it. He pulled his scarf around his neck, listening to John's hurried footsteps calling out to him in a panic.

"Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" he said.

"Don't worry." Sherlock soothed, "Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on her." Billy assured. Lottie hadn't even noticed that he was there still, he having been hiding in one of the other back rooms. She hadn't realized the house was so big and intricate, but she shook the thought and turned off all of the appliances in the kitchen, the stove and the oven and things like that so as to not burn the house down while they were gone and not trusting Billy with the task. She didn't care how good of a chemist he was, he was still a man.

"He'll monitor their recovery." Sherlock said, adjusting his coat collar, "It's more or less his day job."

"What the hell have you done?" John marveled.

Sherlock paused, "A deal with the Devil."

John turned to Lottie, "Did you know about this?"

She looked down sheepishly and he rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath and starting back for the other room, calling out to the couple still standing in the kitchen, "Sherlock, please tell me you haven't' just gone out of your mind."

"I'd rather keep you guessing." Sherlock slipped his gloves onto his fingers and carefully took Mycroft's laptop out from under his hands. There was a faint sound of a helicopter getting louder as it got closer to the house and Sherlock smiled up at the noise, "Ah! There's our lift."

John stepped outside, marveling at the circumstances of the situation and Sherlock followed after him, laptop in hand and waiting on Lottie to join him. She grabbed John's coat and took Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked once they'd caught up with John in the yard.

"Where?" he asked.

"Do you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be imprisoned for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

"Lovely." Lottie took a deep breath and Sherlock squeezed her hand.

"But it's Christmas." John complained.

"I feel the same." The biggest smile grew on Sherlock's face, thinking that John was getting excited about a case, only to be shot down when he realized what John really meant, "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring our gun as I suggested?"

John went wide-eyed, "Why would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?"

"Is it in your coat?"

"Yes."

"Lottie has it. Now, are we ready?"

"Hold on a second, now all of the sudden Lottie is coming with us everywhere again?" John took his coat from the redhead, "You sent her away at the mere idea of danger, but now we're actually going into the danger head on and she's coming along?"

"I'm being selfish, she's being worrisome as usual, now off we go, then."

Sherlock started for the helicopter a few hundred yards in front of them, keeping a hold on Lottie's hand as they walked. John threw up his hands in defeat and jogged to keep up with the couple falling in step on Lottie's other side, sliding his arms into his coat. He peered at her out of the corner of her eye, realizing what he'd said was a little harsh and he pursed his lips in guilt.

"You know it's not that I don't want you here, it's just that-"

"I know what you meant, John. If it makes you feel any better, I don't like it either. But he really didn't have a choice in bringing me along." She told him, glancing up at the detective with a knowing smirk and remembering the night she helped him escape from the hospital a second time. The night she made him promise her he would leave her or send her away again. He'd argued that it wasn't safe, that he was worried about her. He tried every trick in the book but she just wasn't having it. He finally agreed, so long as she did exactly as he told him. She also agreed to this, but he knew she wouldn't oblige. She was too stubborn, but he meant what he'd said to John: he was selfish. He never wanted to be apart from her, and one of his greatest fears is that emotion coming to bite him in the ass. Hopefully it wouldn't on this night.

"Then why didn't you stop him?" John asked. Lottie simply smiled.

"Because I love him."

They reached the helicopter and Sherlock helped Lottie into the cabin, strapping her in and setting her up with her head gear before locking himself into his seat just before they took off. John leaned forward in his seat to speak to Sherlock.

"Where are we going?" he yelled to be heard over the copter, to which Sherlock yelled in return.

"Appledore."

* * *

When they reached Appledore, they set the copter down just outside on the front lawn and, once they all rid themselves of the straps that held them in, Sherlock hopped down onto the grass then turned to help Lottie down, immediately taking her hand once they started walking. John fell in step next to them, following the man that met them outside meant to take them in to see Magnussen. He led them in through the glass doors a few feet from where they'd landed and they followed him to an elevator on the other side of an indoor garden. Lottie tried to take it all in while trying to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. The whole place was made if glass, it seemed; completely white, save for the greenery of the garden. It was beautiful, stunning. Too bad it was the home of someone so dangerous Lottie couldn't even bare to look at him.

They stepped out of the lift on the second floor and there he was, Charles Augustus Magnussen, sat on a long, white leather couch on the other side of the room. They stopped just before him and he waved off his security, leaving Sherlock, John, and Lottie alone with him. Lottie immediately looked away, starting to fidget, and Sherlock squeezed her hand, keeping her calm. She wanted to be anywhere but in the presence of this man.

"I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive." Magnussen started, taking a sip of his drink. Sherlock took a deep breath, maneuvering so that Lottie was next to John and holding his hand so that Sherlock could take a seat next to Magnussen. He adjusted his coat once he sat down and Lottie watched his face harden, then very familiar screams sounded behind her. She turned and was greeted with a projected screen, showing the night that Sherlock rescued her from the bonfire all that time ago. Her heart started to race, remembering the fear she felt that night and John put his arm around her shoulders. Sherlock had warned her about this, warned her about how hard it would be, so she'd expected this, prepared for it even. But she couldn't ruin this for him, he was so close. She stayed cuddled next to John, watching the video in agonizing silence, listening to Sherlock call out to her made it even more painful, but she remained silent.

Behind her, Sherlock was the one actually having a harder time with the video. He remembered that night. He'd been doing his best to give Lottie her time, unsure if she even knew he was still alive, but when Bekah had shown up in such a panic his heart dropped into his stomach. But he had always wondered just how long Magnussen had been watching him. Long enough to know when he'd put a GPS in Lottie's necklace and plant it in John's pocket, that's for sure. So when they'd finally pulled Lottie out of that fire, Sherlock was sure he knew who'd put her there and he felt the heat of anger rise in his throat, though he tried his hardest to not let him affect his work, Magnussen had just about crossed the line that night.

"Oh." He growled, fake astonishment barely noticeable in his tone, "It was you."

"Yes, of course. Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock hummed in response, but Lottie could almost feel the boiling anger from where she stood a few feet away. She glanced back at him, seeing the fire of the video reflect in his eyes. She knew he had a suspicion that it was Magnussen that had her kidnapped and thrown in that fire, they'd discussed it once before, but now seeing it in its full light, it just reminded them both of that horrible night. But unless they both held back their emotions, choking them down and pushing them to the back of their minds, this plan would never work.

"At least at first it was." Magnussen added, "The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, keeping his breathing calm and retaining a level head, watching John step away from Lottie for just a moment, looking closer at the video projected onto the screen that repeatedly showed Sherlock and Bekah pulling Lottie out of the fire, though Sherlock had wished he'd stayed next to her now, knowing how much John's touch helped her to keep calm. Even after the whole incident with Mary, Lottie was still very, very close to John, very much like a brother. Sherlock knew this would be hard for her, but she just wouldn't take no for an answer when he suggested she stayed behind on this case. She would hear nothing of it, not that he blamed her. Every time they were apart she almost lost him, and after his "suicide", she was coming on this case whether he liked it or not.

"But look how you care about Charlotte Blakely." Magnussen cooed, "Your damsel in distress."

Lottie looked over at him, finding his eyes looking her up and down. She felt very exposed and averted her gaze. John turned back to him, anger shining in his eyes, "You put Lottie in a fire for leverage?"

"Oh, I'd never let her burn, Dr. Watson." Magnussen smiled at Lottie, though clearly not addressing her. To him, she was so insignificant. Her only asset being that she was Sherlock's greatest pressure point, "I had people standing by."

Sherlock eyed him, doing his best to keep his anger at bay as Magnussen stood, buttoning up his coat and staring John straight in the eyes, "I am not a murderer. Unlike your wife."

Silence. Lottie watched from afar, keeping out of the way but continuing to observe. Sherlock's eyes were darting between her and John and Magnussen, the wheels in his brain on a continuous working cycle. She couldn't see John's face, but she could tell by the smirk on Magnussen's that he'd hit a weak spot on him. She bit her lip, her hands started to shake but she was keeping calm. Magnussen chuckled, starting for the projector screen so as to shut it off before he faced his audience, "Let me explain how leverage works, Dr. Watson. For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well, apart from me. Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother Sherlock. Sherlock's pressure point is his girlfriend Charlotte Blakely. Charlotte Blakely's pressure point is her boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock's other pressure point, because there is quite a lot as I mentioned in our first meeting, is his best friend John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife, I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas."

He took his seat again and held out his hand to Sherlock, who peered over at him out of the corner of his eye, "It's an exchange, not a gift."

He shoved Mycroft's laptop across the couch and stood, reaching out for Lottie's hand which she gratefully took and stood silent in between him and John. Magnussen picked up the computer and the three of them watched him carefully.

"Forgive me, but I already seem to have it."

"It's password protected." Sherlock said with a hint of belittling apparent in his voice, "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people." Magnussen turned his attention to John, "You should see what I've seen."

"I don't need to see it." John replied.

"Well, you might enjoy it, though. I enjoy it."

His smirk made Lottie feel so uncomfortable, so squeamish. She hated it.

"Then, why don't you show us?" Sherlock challenged.

"Show you Appledore? The secret vaults?" Magnussen set the laptop aside, "Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary."

To their surprise, Magnussen started to laugh, soft at first, but it continued to grow louder, and Lottie couldn't help but take a step closer to Sherlock. He didn't protest, only staring Magnussen down with determined eyes.

"You know," he finally said, "I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-"

"Include the GPS locator." Magnussen interrupted, "By now your brother will have noticed the theft and Security Services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands. And they'll have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind, then I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated. Restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with your little redheaded girlfriend and Mr. and Mrs. Psychopath. Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very proud big brother."

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and Sherlock tilted his head, "The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it."

"Then why am I smiling?" he smirked, "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John was beginning to have enough of this, but Magnussen held up his hand to him.

"No, I want Charlotte Blakely to ask me."

Lottie could feel her eyes widen and she look up at Sherlock. He was gripping her hand tight, but he said nothing, his eyes trained in front of them. Magnussen urged her forward, treating her like a small child, and if she was honest, she kind of felt like one around him. She took a deep breath and one step forward, "Why…are you smiling?"

He chuckled, looking her up and down hungrily, "Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear." He stood and buttoned up his coat, "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

He stood and led them into the room next door, where John followed in right behind him, with Sherlock and Lottie in tow. Just around the corner, Magnussen stood at a large set of wooden double doors, something that really didn't match the rest of the house, something Lottie found extremely odd. They gathered around him and he turned to address them, "The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all."

With one hand on each door handle, Magnussen whipped the doors open, letting the three of them peer in before stepping inside himself. Inside, the walls were completely white, just like the rest of the house, and Lottie had to shield her eyes with her free hand it was so bright. There was one chair that was placed directly in the center, but the room was so small, half the size of the living room she and Sherlock shared. The three of them looked around confused.

"Okay. So where are the vaults, then?" John dared to ask.

"Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." Magnussen turned to them, taking a seat in the single chair, gesturing to the space around him, then to his own head, "They're all in here. The Appledore vaults are my mind palace. You know about mind palaces, don't' you, Sherlock? How to store information so you never forget it, by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults. My memories. I'll look at the files on Mrs. Watson."

Lottie watched in shock and horror as he let his eyes fall shut and, as he described what he was doing, his hands seemed to be actually searching through an invisible filing cabinet. Though, to him, it wasn't invisible. To him, he was literally wandering around the basements of his mind palace where there were shelves as far as the eye could see, a few odd filing cabinets places strategically for when he needed something quickly. He was right, Sherlock knew about mind palaces very well, though he was sure his looked vastly different than Magnussen's, who smiled and held up a file that only he could see, "Oh, this is one of my favorites, it's so exciting. All those whack jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit freelance now. Bad girl, so wicked."

He chuckled and let it rumble and grow until it turned into a full on laugh. Lottie hated this, she looked up at Sherlock, who now seemed to be running rampant through his own mind palace, trying to come up with a plan, a new plan to get them out of this, but he kept coming up on dead ends. They were not in a good place and he needed to come up with something fast or this was not going to end well.

"I can really see why you like her." Magnussen said, sliding the file they couldn't see into the invisible cabinet and sliding the drawer shut. His eyes opened and he smiled at the group before him, "You see?"

John cleared his throat, "So there are no documents, you don't actually have anything here?"

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it but mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand." Lottie finally spoke up.

"You should have that on a t-shirt." Magnussen turned to her with that uneasy smile and she had to take a deep breath to keep her cool.

"You just remember it all?"

"It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just know it, then you don't have any proof." John pointed out.

"Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it, I just have to print it. Speaking of news, you three will be heavily featured tomorrow. Trying to sell state secrets to me." He pushed himself out of his chair, clicking his tongue in a disapproving manner and glancing at his watch, "Let's go outside. They'll be her shortly. Can't wait to see you arrested."

Sherlock had been eerily silent through this whole thing and John finally turned to him with worried features when Magnussen left them alone, "Sherlock, do we have a plan?"

Sherlock said nothing, staring out into space, his eyes trained on the supposed "vaults" and Lottie looked up at him, more than a little afraid. She squeezed his hand and used her free hand to pull on the sleeve of his coat, trying to coax his attention, "Sherlock?"

When he didn't answer John rolled his eyes and walked away, following Magnussen out onto the front steps. Lottie stepped in front of Sherlock, putting her hands on his cheeks and searching his eyes, "Sherlock, please tell me you have something? What are we gonna do?"

Still no reply.

"Sherlock, I'm scared."

He finally saw her, looking straight into her eyes, but she knew he was at a loss. For the first time since they'd met, he didn't know what to do, and she knew he hated not knowing. He put a hand on one of hers, leaning into her touch much in the way she had done weeks prior, letting his eyes close in defeat. He held her face with his other hand and they lingered there for a moment before he slowly led her outside to join John and Magnussen. The sun had started to set and it was growing dark fast, the only light coming from the glass house they had just stepped out of, illuminating the grass in front of them.

"They're taking their time, aren't they?" Magnussen stated. John was next to him, and Sherlock led Lottie by the hand just outside the door a few feet behind them.

"I still don't understand." John spoke.

"And there's the back of our t-shirt." He turned to Lottie but she didn't respond in any way.

"You just know things. How does that work?"

"I just love your little soldier face. I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute."

"What?" Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, looking up at Sherlock. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Sherlock looked away, ashamed of the situation he'd gotten them in and Magnussen looked over at her.

"Don't worry, dearie. You'll have your turn. Come here, John. For Mary. Bring me your face."

John looked back at his friends and cleared his throat; there was nothing the two of them could do so he approached Magnussen warily.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out." Magnussen instructed, "Please."

John did as he was told.

"Now, can I flick it?"

John chuckled, shaking his head. Lottie had a similar reaction, turning to Sherlock, begging him to do something. But there was nothing he could do, and she knew that.

"I told you, darling, you'll get your turn." Magnussen said, "But for now, I'm going to flick John Watson's face."

And that's exactly what he did. He held his fingers to John's cheek and literally flicked his face. Once, then twice. He chuckled again, commenting how much he loved the action. It broke Lottie's heart to watch, knowing how helpless she was.

"It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed." Magnussen explained, flicking his face again, "I know where to find people who hate her." Twice more, "I know where they live. I know their phone numbers." And again, "All in my mind palace. All of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down. And I will. Unless you let me flick your face."

He continued to flick his face several more times, letting his explanation sink in, "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries. Just because I know. See? Watch this. Charlotte, come here."

Lottie sucked in a breath, hesitating in her movements. She turned back to Sherlock and she could see the pain in his eyes but he squeezed her hand once then let it go. She stepped closer to Magnussen and he chuckled, pulling her close to his frame, "This is a great example, because their pressure points are each other. Now, while Sherlock was presumably dead for two years, he was away doing very naughty things. When I have this story printed in the papers tomorrow, I could add all of those naughty things, unless she lets me flick her face, and he does nothing to stop me."

Magnussen held Lottie in front of him so that she was facing John, and very slowly, he moved her long red hair away from her neck and face. And just like John, he started to flick the flesh of her cheeks. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut, and it was all Sherlock could do to keep from tackling him, but he was right. He did some nasty stuff while he was away, even if it was to bring down Moriarty. Things he did not need in the papers. So he was forced to stand by and watch Lottie's cheeks flush red from Magnussen's finger.

"Sherlock." John warned. He didn't like watching this anymore than Sherlock did.

"Let him," Sherlock said, his voice pained, "I'm sorry, Lottie, just…let him."

He let those last two words slip past his teeth with a growl and Magnussen laughed at him, leaning around to speak to Lottie with a victorious smile, "Can I flick your eye, now? Come on, try to keep it open." He attempted to flick her eyeball but she whimpered when he got too close, "It's difficult, isn't it? Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises."

Sherlock felt his fists clench, resisting the urge not to punch Magnussen with everything he had. In the distance they could hear a helicopter heading their way and they were forced to shield their eyes from the bright lights shining down on them when it came into view, and Mycroft's voice came over the loudspeaker, _"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Charlotte Blakely stand away from that man."_

"Here we go, Mr. Holmes." Magnussen kissed Lottie's cheek and stepped away from her. That pushed Sherlock over the edge. He reached out for Lottie and she took his hand, letting him pull her away and he stood in front of her.

"To clarify," Sherlock started, "Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind? Nowhere else. Just there."

"They're not real. They never have been." Magnussen confirmed. Sherlock nodded his head.

" _Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Charlotte Blakely. Step away."_ Mycroft demanded.

"It's fine." Magnussen waved them off, "They're harmless."

Lottie looked around, spotting the armed men that were surrounding them on the ground. If she wasn't panicking before, she was now, "Sherlock, what do we do?"

"Nothing." Magnussen answered for him, "There's nothing to be done. I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You all happen to be three of them. Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes."

" _Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Charlotte Blakely, stand away from that man. Do it now."_

Sherlock looked over John, taking in his military stance, one that just couldn't seem to be beaten out of him, before turning his attention to Lottie. She was scared, but she was standing tall. She was doing it for him, she always did it for him, and it made his heart swell. He took two steps towards her and took her face in his hands, kissing her lips for what could very well be the last time. He looked into her confused eyes and started to respond to Magnussen, "Do your research. I'm not a hero."

He slid his hand into John's coat pocket behind him and pulled out the gun he instructed told him to bring, "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!"

And just like that, he put a bullet in Magnussen's brain. He heard Lottie scream as he threw the gun aside and raised his hands above his head.

"No! Sherlock, no, don't do this!" Lottie started for him but John held her back. So many flashbacks came running through her head of the day Sherlock jumped from the roof of St. Bart's, but this time he was very much alive and very much about to get taken away from her, again. She wasn't sure which was worse: him dead, thinking she'd never seem again and taken from her, or him alive, knowing that he was out there somewhere and taken from her, knowing that he was just out of her reach.

"John, keep her away from me!" Sherlock demanded, "Both of you stay well back."

"Christ, Sherlock!" John grabbed the squirming Lottie around the middle and pulled her back. She fell to her knees and he had no choice but to go down with her, holding her as called out to Sherlock in despair, listening to the sound Mycroft's orders not to fire at his brother. The men surrounding them with weapons closed in, and all Sherlock could hear was the helicopter, Lottie's muffled cries and John's words of disbelief. He turned back to them, John's arms around Lottie's waist and her hands covered her mouth to hide the sobs and Sherlock felt his heart rip in two.

"Give my love to Mary. Tell her she's safe now."


	14. Chapter 14

Lottie sat silent in the back of Mary's car, her eyes watching the scenery pass by through the window, but her mind was elsewhere. She absentmindedly fiddled with the jewelry on her left ring finger and her locket that she was smoothing over in her lap. She was remembering a few days prior, back at Baker Street, one of the last days she had with Sherlock before they had to take him away. Mycroft had talked them into letting Sherlock stay at home while they decided what to do with him, knowing no prison could ever hold him without causing a riot on a daily basis. She looked down to her lap, sliding her nails in between the two sides of the locket and prying it open. The picture that made their name had a permanent home there, reminding her of everything they'd gone through. And not even just her and Sherlock, but with John too. She glanced up at him behind the wheel of the car and found him glancing back at her every so often, checking on her as he often did. She wished she could've reassured him that she was okay, but she was so emotionally drained she wasn't sure she could muster up the energy to even smile at him. She returned to the blurry greens that they were outside the window, her mind wandering off again in search of the joy she found in those last few days with Sherlock, remembering one in particular.

_Lottie sat in Sherlock's chair with a cup of tea resting in her lap. She had a book open but she wasn't reading it, unable to keep her mind in it for long enough to retain anything that was happening in the story. Sherlock was in their bedroom in the back of the flat, trying to keep his mind busy, unwilling to think about what the next few months would bring, but he was having about as much luck as Lottie was with her book. He took a seat on his bed and let his mind wander, at a loss of what to do with his time. There was no point in packing, there wasn't anything he would need that they wouldn't supply him. No point in taking up a case, either. It wasn't permitted. He glanced over at the photo frame that Lottie had placed on the nightstand on her side of the bed, picking it up with a heavy heart. A photo of the two of them, of him perched in his usual spot in the kitchen with his chemistry equipment, but he wasn't working, not at that moment anyway. He was turned away from the table, facing a very happy Lottie with his hands resting on her hips. She had a teacup in her hands and the biggest of smiles on her face, as did he. He remembered this moment that Mary had snapped on her phone, though he hadn't even realized that she was there, though he seldom did whenever it was just he and Lottie. When it was just the two of them, he felt most comfortable, relaxed, himself. She didn't care that he didn't speak when he was working, or that he continued to speak even when she wasn't in the room. She didn't care that he stayed up all night playing violin when he was thinking, nor did she mind all of the experiments that he performed in their home. In fact, she enjoyed them, loved hearing him explain things to her. Normally, he would get annoyed of having to explain things, complain that people didn't think or observe, but not her. He didn't mind explaining things to Lottie, he was sure he might even miss it once he…_

_He shook his head, an idea forming in his mind that made his heart race. He set the photo down and got to his feet, pulling open the top drawer of his dresser on the other side of the room and he pulled out a little red box, holding it gingerly in his fingers and gently prying it open to reveal the ring with a clear-cut center diamond and two red gems on either side of it. He felt himself smile in spite of himself and he popped the box closed again. It was now or never._

John drove himself, a very pregnant Mary, and Lottie towards their destination. None of them said a word as they pulled into the airport parking lot where a private jet was parked, ready to take flight with a few people standing around waiting. John put the car in park and turned back to Lottie, placing a hand on her knee. She looked over at him and gave a weak smile, to which he returned, and they got out of the car to greet Sherlock, Mycroft, and presumably the jet piolet standing around the plane. Mary was the first to approach Sherlock, a soft smile on her features and her arms held to hug him. He held her for a moment, trying to keep his cool. They had only been there for less than five seconds and he already knew this was going to be a lot harder than he could have ever imagined.

"You will look after him for me, won't you?" he asked and Mary chuckled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't worry," she promised, "I'll keep him in trouble."

He smiled, "That's my girl."

She turned back and assumed her position at John's side, taking his hand and standing before Sherlock, but he wasn't looking at them. His eyes were gazing past them, where Lottie was standing by the car still. She re-clasped her locket around her neck and looked over at him with sad, broken eyes. He could see the gleam of the ring on her finger and he felt the corners of his mouth tug, remembering that evening fondly.

_Sherlock stepped down the hall with tentative steps, stopping just inside the living room, waiting for Lottie to look up at him. When she did, she gave him the weakest smile, pulling at his heartstrings. But he kept telling himself, now or never. He approached her and held out his hand to her to which she took without hesitation, as she always did and he picked up the remote to the iHome, hitting play so that one of the pieces he'd composed and recorded himself filled the room. He turned back to her and held her frame with one hand, and her palm in the other, very casual, but so intimate, something he would have never even dreamed of before he met her and now, it very well could be the thing that he would miss most._

" _You love to dance." Lottie muttered, reimagining the night of John and Mary's wedding – the night this whole mess began. Sherlock nudged her cheek with his nose._

" _With you." He added. She hummed in question and he repeated in a soft tone, "I love to dance with you."_

_She smiled and rested her head on his chest, letting him take control of their swaying dance around their living room. He kissed her hair and rested his cheek there. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, letting Sherlock's music move them and allowing both of them to soak up this moment, one of their lasts that they would have together. Sherlock wanted to stay like that forever, but his logical brain was nagging at him, telling him to get a move on and he sighed. Lottie looked up at him expectantly and he stopped their swaying. She furrowed her eyebrows._

" _Sherlock, what is it?"_

Sherlock brought himself back from his walk down memory lane and thinned his lips.

He did not want to do this.

He turned to his brother with thin lips, "Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, but obliged none-the-less, gesturing the crowd over to the other end of the lot. Lottie was the only one who didn't move. She was leaning against the car, away from everyone and out of earshot of John and Sherlock. John cleared his throat.

"So, here we are." He said.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Sherlock stated suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it. If you're looking for baby names."

John chuckled, "No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh," Sherlock smiled, "Okay."

Silence. Complete silence between the two of them. Years of crime-solving and breaking into places they shouldn't be, busting crimnals, and so much more. And neither of them could think of a damn thing to say to one another. They looked around awkwardly until John finally stepped closer to Sherlock, speaking in a whisper, "The game is over."

"The game is never over, John." Sherlock assured, "But there may be some new players now. That's okay. The east wind takes us all in the end."

"What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The east wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. Seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me."

"Nice."

"He was a rubbish big brother."

John smiled, looking down at the pavement, "So what about you, then? Where are you actually going now?"

Sherlock sucked in a breath, "Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe."

"For how long?"

"Six months, my brother esitmates. He's never wrong."

"And then what?"

Sherlock didn't say anything. He was biting the inside of his cheek and his eyes were wet with unspilled tears and John knew. He knew exactly what Sherlock was trying to tell him. He nodded his head and looked away. He took a deep breath, and changed the subject as quick as possible.

"Congratulations by the way." He said. Sherlock smirked, as much as this was tearing him down, that one moment of bliss; that would keep him going. That moment would be with him until the end.

" _Sherlock, what is it?" Lottie asked._

" _Charlotte Eloise Blakely," he started and Lottie's hands immediately flew to cover her face. Typical girl excitement washing over her as Sherlock spoke, "I know you've technically already said yes, but, I want to do this properly,"_

_He pulled the ring box from his pocket and tears started pouring from Lottie's eyes as he got down on one knee. He waited a moment, letting the moment linger, letting both of them take complete advantage of the joy that was filling the room. He was grinning like an idiot but he didn't care. He pulled the box open and presented it to her, "Lottie, will you marry me?"_

"John," Sherlock finally said, "I need you to take care of her. Take care of her for me."

John looked back at Lottie still leaning against the car. She was quiet now, calm, for the most part, but she would not handle this well later, and both boys knew that, and Sherlock would not be there to comfort her. He would not be there to hold her, to kiss her lips, to remind her to breath, but John would. John would be there, like he always was and always would be. He would be there to pick her back up when she fell to pieces; he'd done it before and he would do it again. He nodded and turned back to Sherlock, who had his hand held out to him.

"To the very best of times, John."

They shook hands and with one look back at his brother Sherlock stepped around John and started for his now fiancé standing by the car they'd arrived in. John joined his wife with the others and they watched the couple with a sad interest. John hated this, this was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he wanted for either of them. Usually, they greeted each other with a kiss, but not this time. This time Lottie hesitated to even look up at him. She hadn't cried when she heard he was leaving, not one tear, and John suspected she already knew; deep down, she knew that he would have to leave. On the way to the airport, she hadn't shed a single tear, but now, when she finally looked up at Sherlock, she had tear stains. She was trying to be brave, for him. She knew he'd done this for the ones he loved, he had to. There was nothing else anyone could have done. The spark he'd seen in her eyes that day was gone, dull and lifeless and he hated himself for this. He remembered the tears she'd cried that day, much different than the ones that slid down her cheeks now.

Sherlock felt his eyes brim with tears, both of them giving the saddest of smiles. He reached out and caressed her cheek with his bare hand and she anticipated his touch, closing her eyes and relishing in the last moments of them being together. When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he was crying, something she'd never seen before, not truly. She's been quiet all this time, but she couldn't anymore. She finally let out a sob and threw her arms around his waist, to which he responding by letting his body surrender to her, holding her frame with one hand on the back of her head and burying his face in her hair. He was holding her so close, so tight that she thought he might break her in half but she didn't care. It wouldn't matter – she was going to break as soon as he walked away anyway. She was holding him just as tight, as tight as her weak muscles would let her, gripping his coat and never wanting to let him go. She could almost hear his heart shattering into tiny pieces when she felt his lips on her head. She pulled away and looked into his red-rimmed eyes and she smiled, remembering looking into his eyes when he was down on one knee, presenting her with the most beautiful ring, feeling so terribly speechless.

" _Sherlock," Lottie gasped. She feverishly started nodding her head, whispering her answer, 'Yes!' over and over in a blissful whisper, releasing her mouth and holding her left hand out for Sherlock to slide the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit._

_Sherlock got to his feet and gave Lottie one of the most passionate kisses he could muster. This was exactly as he wanted. If he'd had time to plan it properly, there wasn't a lot he would've changed about that moment. He would've done it there, at Baker Street, where they'd met, where they lived and worked, where they shared a bed. He would've done it while she was reading and drinking tea, wearing one of his shirts with her long red hair fanned out over the arms of his chair, where she loved to sit. This was where he would've done it._

_Only he wouldn't be leaving her. Again._

"You keep breaking your promise, Sherlock." Lottie managed, "You said you would stay with me."

He gave a breathy laugh and crashed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, letting their lips move in time with each other, memorizing how it felt. He started to pull away but she lifted her heels to meet his lips again, pouring all of her passion into it until she couldn't anymore. He rested his forehead on hers, out of breath.

"I will always stay with you." He breathed. He placed something in her hand and with one last chaste kiss, he walked away, not daring to look back again for fear that he wouldn't be able to let her go. He barely glanced over John, Mary, and his brother, finding it almost as hard to say goodbye, and climbed into the plane.

And just like that, he was gone. Lottie held the back of her hand under her nose, choking back the sobs that threatened to send her into a downward spiral. She looked down at the item in her hand, a small red box, not unlike the one he'd proposed to her with. She opened it and found three items inside and she felt her eyes grow wide. There were two rings, one of them slightly bigger than the other, and she picked up the smaller one, made of gold and lined with red gems to match her engagement ring, the bigger one, also gold, but the entire inside was a deep red. She knew exactly what it was, and exactly what it meant.

The jet roared to life, blowing Lottie's hair all around her face and she looked up as it pulled away, starting for the runway across the grass mall. She watched it go and she turned back to John. He was watching the plane go but when he felt her eyes on her he averted his attention. She held yes gaze for a moment, but returned to the departing plane. He watched her heart shatter as the aircraft gained speed and all he could do was give her a look of pity. Faster and faster and Lottie suddenly felt her feet moving, starting after it, but something jerked her back and she watched in helpless horror as plane that carried the love of her life lifted into the air. She felt weak, but John's embrace held her on her feet. She watched the plane for a moment then turned back to John. He wasn't crying, but she could see the heartbreak in his eyes and she flung her arms around his neck.

Mycroft stepped into his car and Mary approached John and Lottie cautiously. The two of them were holding on to each other for dear life it seemed. Mary hadn't been there, but she imagined this was a bit like what it was like when Sherlock jumped, though she would never truly know, just like she would never truly know the bond Lottie and John had. It wasn't romantic, no, she knew that but there was a special bond there. Mary imagined a little black string between the two, being yanked and stretched and knotted, but no matter what it kept them together, it kept them afloat; a lifeline that the two of them had weaved long ago that kept them both standing. They'd gone through so much, it was merely survival. Lottie opened her eyes and peered over at Mary. All this time, Lottie wouldn't even look at her, still upset that she had shot Sherlock, and reasonably so. Mary understood, hoping that time would heal their relationship and she gave her her space. But to her surprise, Lottie let go of John, approaching the blonde apprehensively. They used to be so close, the best of friends, but Mary ripped a whole in that fabric much like she'd ripped a hole in Sherlock's chest. Lottie was so bitter, so angry and hard, but now, looking at the ginger that stood before her, Mary could see how broken she was. She'd lost him, grieved for two years, got him back, almost lost him again because of her, and now he was gone, for good. She'd been drained of all emotion, and, to Mary's surprise, she hugged her. Mary didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around the girl's frame. When they parted, Mary held her at arm's length, noticing the box in her hand. She reached for it, silently asking for permission from Lottie who let it go with dead eyes. John joined them, peering inside when Mary pulled it open. Lottie tried to chuckle through her tears at their faces, holding herself and turning away. She could still see the plane in the distance and she watched it, silently praying that it would turn around and bring him back to her, knowing deep down that it wouldn't.

Mary pulled the items out and handed the box over to John. She stood in front of Lottie once more, holding the jewelry out to her. The third item, the one Lottie had forgotten about, too distracted by the rings, caused her to furrow her eyebrows. It was a pendant with the same red gem that was set in the front of her locket. She took it from Mary and examined it closer, noticing that this too was a locket. She glanced up at Mary and pried it open, finding a picture placed inside. The one that had sat by their bed on her side. The one Mary had taken of them in their kitchen. Lottie cupped her mouth and Mary immediately put her arms around the girl's shoulders. Opposite the photo, a piece of paper behind a glass protector, a small note in Sherlock's hand. Their promise to each other, the one that was so hard for them to keep.

' _I will always stay with you. –SH'_

"He'd not coming back, is he?" Lottie whispered. But neither Mary nor John had the heart to answer her. Mary took the pendant locket and slid the wedding rings onto the chain, clasping it around Lottie's neck. It hung perfect, just below the smaller one with the hidden GPS and Lottie smiled at her as a thank you. They got ready to leave but they were stopped Mycroft opened up his car door and started complaining to someone on the phone.

"But that's not possible. That is simply not possible."

The three of them turned back to look at him and John left the two ladies and stepped forward, "What's happened?"

Mycroft merely shook his head and dialed another number on his phone. Lottie squeezed Mary's hand as the elder Holmes brother spoke, and she couldn't believe the words that escaped his mouth.

* * *

On the plane, Sherlock watched out the window as they gained more altitude by the minute. He pulled something from his pocket and ran his thumb over the red gem in the center absentmindedly. His eyes were pink and puffy but he didn't care. This was it. He was never going to see her again. He peered down at the pendant in his hand, popping it open to view the picture inside, Lottie's happy smile and bright grey eyes were staring back at him. It was a photo he'd found on his phone when he'd left it unguarded in their flat for too long; she'd taken several pictures of herself and left them there for him to find. If anyone else had done it, he would've been seriously irritated but not with her. If he was honest, he was glad for them. Especially on days when she took a weekend trip or if he was working on a case by himself, which was rare, or in cases like this when this would be the only thing he would have to remember her. On the other side, under the clear film piece, a note forever preserved in this locket. It was in her handwriting, from a note she'd scribbled when she'd gotten up extra early one morning and had to run a few errands. She'd left him this note so he knew where she'd gone, but she signed it as she always did to him.

' _Always, Lottie xx'_

"Sir?"

He clipped the pendant shut at the sound of the pilot's voice, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He really didn't feel like talking, but the man was holding out a phone to him and he furrowed his brow.

"It's your brother." He was informed. Sherlock leaned up and took the device from him, holding it to his ear.

"Mycroft."

" _Hello, little brother. How's the exile going?"_

"I've only been gone four minutes."

" _Well, I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."_

Sherlock's eyes widened, "Oh, for God's sake, make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

There was a hesitation at the other end before Mycroft answered him, _"England."_

* * *

"No. He's dead."

Lottie was pacing back and forth, wringing her hands together and taking deep breaths. This could not be happening.

"John, Lottie's right." Mary said, "I mean, you told me he was dead. Moriarty is supposed to be dead."

"Absolutely." John said, very matter-of-fact, "He blew his own brains out."

"So how can he be back?" Lottie squeaked. Mary hugged her and John took a deep breath.

"Well, if he is," he started, "He'd better wrap up warm. There's an east wind coming."

He wasn't even looking at them, he was looking past them and Lottie was about to ask him what in the hell he was talking about, then she realized and her eyes grew wide at the sound of a plane drawing near. She whipped around and found the aircraft that, only moments ago, had taken Sherlock away from her was now bringing him back. She covered her mouth has The plane landed and Lottie took off for the stairs that led into the cabin, Mycroft, John, and Mary on her heels. There were tears streaming down her face in pure bliss but the interaction that happened once they were all on the plane was not something she was expecting, it wasn't something any of them were expecting.

"Well, a somewhat shorter exile than we'd imagined, brother mine." Mycroft greeted, "Hardly adequate, given your levels of OCD."

Lottie had a big stupid grin on her face, whole-heartedly expecting the same reaction from her fiancé, but that's not what she received. He was wide-eyed, frantic looking and breathing heavy. Something wasn't right here.

"I have to go back." He demanded.

"What?" the whisper escaped Lottie's lips before she could stop it.

"I was, I was nearly there, I nearly had it."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Mycroft looked at John, then back at Lottie as if they had the answers he was looking for, but Lottie just looked, shock-scared and confused. John was very close to a sarcastic eye roll.

"Go back where?" he said, "You didn't get very far."

Sherlock was trying not to rip his hair out of his head in frustration, "Ricoletti and his abominable wife, don't you understand?"

"No, of course we don't. You're not making any sense, Sherlock." Mary's voice was stern.

"Sherlock, what's wrong with you?" Lottie's raspy voice reached Sherlock's ears and he finally looked up at her. They locked eyes and immediately Sherlock felt a wave of calm wash over him. When the plane had taken off he had hoped that he could somehow lock his feelings away in the back of his mind palace. He knew he couldn't, but he had to try. He was supposed to never see her again; his heart was shattered, aching, and numb all at the same time at the thought, but here she was, standing right in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to abandon everything and hold her in his arms for the rest of eternity. But he couldn't let this go, he'd gotten so close to an answer, too close to give up now, risked too much. Lottie said his name again and he came out of his daze, not realizing he'd been staring into her eyes without saying a word. She was silently urging him to explain himself, to come back to her and he took a deep breath. Even with as many drugs as he'd taken, she still had such a powerful effect on him.

"It was a case," he started, "a famous one, from 100 years ago. Lodged in my hard drive. She seemed to be dead, but then she came back."

"What, like Moriarty?" John questioned.

"Shot herself in the head, exactly like Moriarty."

"But you've only just been told, and we've only just found out." Mary said, "He's on every TV screen in the country."

"Yes, so? It's been five minutes since Mycroft called. What progress have you made? What have you been doing?"

John chuckled, "More to the point, what have you been doing?"

"Been in my mind palace, of course. Running an experiment. How would I have solved the crime, if I'd been there in 1895?"

Mycroft and John stood blinking at him, Mycroft giving a sigh of pity, but Mary and Lottie looked at each other with a more open-minded air about them. Lottie took a seat across from Sherlock, pushing her emotions to the back of her mind. This was important, so her heart-felt reunion with Sherlock would have to wait. Though Sherlock watched her, aching to be closer to her, but now was not the time. He tore his eyes away, shaking his head, "I had it perfect! I was there, all of it, everything. I was immersed."

"Of course you were." Mycroft clearly didn't believe a word his little brother was saying. Mary reached over and picked up Sherlock's phone.

"You've been reading John's blog?" she said after a quick glance, "The Hounds of Baskerville."

Sherlock nodded, "Helps me if I see myself through his eyes sometimes. I'm so much cleverer."

He and Lottie locked eyes. She knew he was bluffing. It may help to see himself through John's eyes, but they both knew there was a different reason that he was reading that specific adventure. Lottie felt her heart thump and she bit her lip nervously at the thought of what happened that weekend, but she kept quiet about it. Now was not the time to be discussing those kinds of things.

"You really think anyone's believing you?" Mycroft pulled them out of their day dream.

"No, he can do this, I've seen it. The mind palace is like a whole world in his head." John defended.

"Yes and I need to get back there." Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration.

"The mind palace is a memory technique." Mycroft said with a snobbish air, "I know what it can do. And I know what it most certainly cannot."

Sherlock twitched and Lottie thought he might punch his brother, "Maybe there are one or two things that I know that you don't."

Mycroft didn't seem phased, "Oh, there are. Did you make a list?"

Sherlock bit at his fingernails, something he and Lottie had been working on before he was being sent off, though they gave up towards the end, not seeing the point. He took a deep breath, looking at Lottie with apologetic eyes and she watched him with her eyes full of the love and concern that Sherlock was sure he was never going to see again. He turned away from her and locked eyes with his brother, "You've put on weight. That waistcoat's clearly newer than the jacket…"

"Stop this, just stop it." Mycroft snapped, putting a halt to what was clearly Sherlock avoiding the subject with deductions. He was stalling and Mycroft knew it. He repeated his question, "Did you make a list?"

"Of what?"

"Everything, Sherlock. Everything you've taken."

"No, it's not that, he goes into a sort of trance. I've seen him do it." John was doing everything he could to defend his best mate, but Lottie watched Sherlock curiously. He kept glancing at her as if there was something he was unwilling to admit to her and he was silently apologizing to her, but for what she wasn't sure she'd seen him through some pretty tough things, so she wasn't sure why this was so hard. She furrowed her eyebrows as he squeezed his eyes shut in defeat, pulling a piece of paper from inside his jacket and handing it to her. She hesitated but she took it, letting their fingers graze each other, sending shivers down her spine. She glanced around at the group before she unfolded the note and her worried eyes glancing over the words on the paper while Mary read over her shoulder. Their eyes went wide when they realized what they were reading and Lottie looked at Sherlock with the fear that he was trying to avoid. He was biting his nail again and watching her as if he knew she would never want to see him again, but instead she reached out and took his hand away from his mouth, holding it tight. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of her touch calm him as his brother spoke.

"We have an agreement, my brother and I, ever since that day. Wherever I find him, whatever back alley or doss house, there will always be a list."

John took the paper from Lottie and sat down, glancing over it and shaking his head in disbelief, "He couldn't have taken all that in the last five minutes."

Mycroft chuckled, "He was high before he got on the plane."

Lottie looked at Sherlock and his eyes squeezed shut again. That was the look he was truly afraid of. The look of disappointment. She reluctantly pulled her fingers from his grasp and he clenched his fist, already missing the touch of her skin. He knew she would be upset, thinking that he was drugged out during what was supposed to be their last moments together. But she would never believe him if he told her the truth. The truth that, yes, he was high during their goodbyes, and it was for the case, but it was also because it was the only way he was able to keep himself together, to keep himself from completely breaking before this very important mission he was being sent on, before he had to leave her forever. He was supposed to never see those beautiful grey eyes, never wake up with her in his arms, never see her sitting in his chair with her tea and her book, never see her smile or hear her laugh again, never feel the taste of her lips again. This was the only way he could think of that would get him through it. He knew she would be upset if she ever found out, so he was really hoping this wouldn't have happened. He was suddenly very angry at his brother for giving out his secret.

"Didn't seem high." Mary spoke, through gritted teeth it seemed.

"Nobody deceives like an addict." Mycroft said.

"I'm not an addict," Sherlock spoke up, "I'm a user. I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes."

"For God's sake, this could kill you. You could die." John spat.

Lottie flinched and Sherlock tried to ignore the pull at his heart-strings, "Controlled usage is not usually fatal, and abstinence is not immortality."

Lottie stayed quiet and, for a time, the silence would have been because of fear, but that was long ago. Now she was quiet for much different reasons. Now Sherlock was the one who had reasons to be afraid of her silence.

"What are you doing?" said Mycroft.

"Emelia Ricoletti, I'm looking her up." Mary replied, Sherlock's phone still in hand.

"Yeah, I supposed we should."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I have access to the top level of the MI5 archives." Mycroft started.

"Yep, that's where I'm looking." Came Mary's response. The silence that followed would have been humorous if not for the situation at hand.

"What do you think of MI5's security?" Mycroft dared.

"I think it would be a good idea." Mary replied with a grin, "Emelia Ricoletti, unsolved. Like he says."

"Can you all just shut up for five minutes?" Sherlock yelled, "I have to go back. I was nearly there before you stepped on and started yapping away."

"'Yapping'?" John said, "Sorry, did we interrupt your session?"

Mycroft cleared his throat, stopping the argument before it had a chance to begin, "Sherlock, listen to me."

"No," his brother replied, "it only encourages you."

"I'm not angry with you."

"Oh! That's a relief. I was really worried. No, hold on. I really wasn't."

Mycroft took a minute to brush off the heavy sarcasm that his brother threw in his face before speaking with the most sincerity that Lottie had ever seen out of the elder brother, "I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again. I'll always be there for you. This was my fault."

"It was nothing to do with you."

"A week in a prison cell, I should have realized."

"Realized what?"

"That in your case, solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sherlock rubbed his temples, trying his damndest to relieve his oncoming headache to no avail. But when John spoke, he froze, looking over at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"What did you say?" Sherlock breathed.

John looked at him, "I didn't say anything."

"No, you did, you said, 'Which is it today? Morphine or cocaine?'"

Lottie looked around the cabin of the plane at all of the confused faces staring at her fiancé. She swallowed her oncoming anxiety and put a hand on Sherlock's knee. He whipped his head around towards her and she silently begged him to tell her what was going on. He tried to steady himself as his vision blurred and all he could see was red. The color drained from his face and there was sweat pouring from every inch of him. He took Lottie's hand and squeezed, babbling nonsense words before he fell unconscious. Lottie called out to him, jumping to her feet, practically in his lap, shaking him so that he might wake up. He was mumbling and they were only able to make out a few words, but most of them didn't make any sense. He kept apologizing to Lottie, and something about a room full of brides. Lottie was looking around at them all frantically, with John standing over the two of them, also trying to wake the detective, but nothing was working. John looked at Lottie, with her eyes locked on Sherlock, he was surprised she wasn't having an attack, or crying, or anything of the sort. To be fair though, John was convinced that Sherlock had completely broke her. She probably couldn't feel anything anymore after everything Sherlock had put her through. Still, here she was, standing by him, worried and exhausted. Suddenly, after what felt like years, Sherlock inhaled, bringing John from his thoughts. He was looking around at all the people hovering over him and he gave them all a smirk, "Miss me?"

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, you all right?"

"Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause you probably just OD'd." Mary said, "You should be in hospital."

Sherlock looked at Lottie, their hands still clamped together and she was watching him with such worried and tired eyes. If those pills didn't kill him, that look would. He wanted to go back to that time when things were going well, when she agreed to marrying him, when they lived together and solved crimes together, now he was really going to have to do some work putting her back together after all this was over. But he would being lying if he said there wasn't a part of him that was proud to see her there, with him, even after everything that happened. He gave her a weak smile and she returned it, barely.

"No time." He shook his head, "I have to go to Baker Street now. Moriarty is back."

He got to his feet and immediately started stumbling. His hand reflexively searched for Lottie's and she was by his side in no time, holding his hand and keeping him stable with her other free hand on his back.

"I almost hope he is," Mycroft stood in their way, "if it'll save you from this."

He pulled the paper that listed all of the drugs Sherlock had taken from his pocket and held it in front of his little brother's face. Sherlock thinned his lips, releasing his hand from Lottie's just long enough to grab the paper, rip it up and replace his hand in her's.

"No need for that now. I've got the real thing." He said, "I have work to do."

He was about to lead Lottie off of the plane but Mycroft stopped him again, "Sherlock, promise me?"

"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something? Like a proper big brother."

He pushed past him, pulling Lottie behind and Mary followed in behind both of them. John pulled up the rear and Mycroft called his name just before he stepped off the plane. He stopped, turning back at him with a look that said he really didn't have time for this.

"Look after him." Mycroft told him. "Please."

John only nodded and hurried after his friends, leaving Mycroft on the plane by himself. Sherlock, Lottie, and Mary were already almost to the car and he had to jog to catch up, "Sherlock, hang on. Explain. Moriarty is alive, then?"

"I never said he was alive, I said he was back." Sherlock stopped, turning to face the group.

"So, he's dead?" Lottie questioned.

"'Course he's dead. He blew his own brains out. No one survives that. I just went to the trouble of an overdose to prove it."

Lottie's jaw dropped open a little and Sherlock realized he'd probably gone a little too far with that one. He squeezed her hand as an apology and lowered his voice a little, "Moriarty is dead. No question. But more importantly, I know exactly what he's going to do next."

Sherlock smirked, clearly enjoying the "high" he was getting from the new case. John rolled his eyes and he and Mary started for the car. Lottie was about to follow, but Sherlock stopped her, keeping a hold on her hand. She looked up at him with questioning eyes and he had a soft smile about him.

"Well, what are we waiting for, Sherly? Moriarty could be-!" She started but Sherlock cut her off. He was kissing her with everything he had, having held back since the minute he saw her step on that plane (minus the unconsciousness from the drugs; that part was unforeseen). She responded back without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to stay like that forever, but they had to stop. They had work to do. Sherlock rested his forehead on hers, pulling her body as close to his as he could. She had one tear streak running down her cheek, all the tears she had left, and his fingers grazed the necklace that was still hanging around her neck. He thought about how something that at the time meant so much, could now mean so little yet still have such an impact. She peered down at it and reached around to unhook it, letting the wedding rings slide off the chain and into her palm. She placed them in his hand and wrapped his fingers around them with a smart smile.

"You'll be needing these back, I think. We're going to need them."

He smiled and kissed her lips again; this time in pure happiness and bliss. He didn't have to leave her, he could keep his promise, at least for now. They parted and she took his free hand, letting him lead her into the backseat of Mary and John's car, sitting so close they were practically on top of each other and Sherlock leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I told you."

"Told me what?" She said.

"That I would stay with you." He smirked and she rolled her eyes. They all looked around, happy smiles and tears all around and Lottie's heart was slowly mending itself. The four of them would keep that promise. There would be books written about them, Lottie was sure of it. She settled into her seat next to Sherlock, smiling when Mary leaned over to give John a quick kiss, and Sherlock's fingers interlocked with her own. John turned the car engine over and they started off towards 221b Baker Street. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into but Lottie know one thing, this was her family, and they would all stay with each other.

Always.

* * *

_A few miles down the road…_

"Sherlock." Lottie's voice had a questioning air about it and Sherlock 'hmm-ed' in return, looking away from his phone and down at her, "Are you going to tell me what on Earth you were doing in your mind palace on that plane?"

Sherlock smirked, "Maybe. One day."


End file.
